A String of Minor Disasters

Warning: This story contains incest near the end, bisexual sex, and group sex.

I wish to thank the readers of Chapters 1 and 2 of this series for their enthusiastic response. I am most appreciative and I hope you enjoy this story, too.

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I was returning from Ghana, in Africa. It was a business trip, and I was tired. The Ghanaians I met there were truly lovely people, but the way they do business is so very different I needed a major adjustment continuously, and I was more than tired. I was exhausted.

My body was exhausted, too, due to near constant heartburn and "digestive issues." In Ghana I went through an entire large bottle of Tums. Ghanaian cuisine involves ginger, garlic, ginger, onions, ginger, hot pepper, and ginger. They even put ginger in the pineapple juice. I have to confess though, it tastes delicious that way. It was a relief to have the bland airline food of Delta Airlines, the only company to fly nonstop from Accra to New York.

I travel a lot so I have all the gimmicks that make travel easier, such as "trusted traveler" status. Since I went with carry-on, I was out of the airport and on line for a taxi in record time. I was coming home three days earlier than planned, and I could not wait to surprise my boyfriend. I asked the taxi to go straight to his place. I figured with traffic and everything, we'd arrive between 7PM and 8PM.

I left the taxi, carry-on following faithfully behind me as I pulled it, used my key to get into his building and took the stairs to the third floor. His building had neither doorman not elevator. I rang the bell and knocked on the door. I heard footsteps through the door and my face opened into a broad smile. I could not wait to fall into his strong, warm arms, pushing my breasts against his chest and perhaps feeling his hardness as we hugged. Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?

I was shocked into paralysis when a sexy blonde opened the door wearing my house robe. She looked to be naked underneath the robe. She had a big smile, and I thought there might be just a spot of my lover's cum at the corner of her beautiful mouth. She was pretty, no doubt about it.

She was buxom, full figured and her large breasts, unencumbered by a bra, poked strongly at my robe. My robe was not accustomed to clothing such a sexy woman, since usually it clothed me. This woman had child bearing hips and the curves of her body were pronounced. Barbaie dolls from my childhood come to mind. My body's curves in contrast are more subdued. I felt my French body of small hips and slight figure (except for my breasts, for some inexplicable reason) was somehow inadequate measured against this sexpot's body.

The woman in my robe was talking but I was not hearing. I was not hearing anything. Finally, she said, "Isabelle? Are you Isabelle?" There is something about hearing your own name that can cut through the fog of shock.

"I'm sorry we met this way. Mike said you weren't expected home for a few more days," she said. "I'm Julia."

I just stared.

"I'm pregnant, you see. Mike's the father," she said. I remained frozen to my spot, staring. "My baby's three months along. Mike's been meaning to tell you. I'm hoping we can all be friends."

I found my voice. "I need to use the bathroom," I said, as I brushed past Julia and ran to the bathroom for guests. I vomited all the airline food in my tummy. Julia heard me vomiting and brought me a glass of water and ironically a piece of candied ginger.

"Ginger helps relieve nausea," she said. "Are you pregnant, too? I hate the nausea, don't you?" Julia added, her voice laced with fake sympathy and saccharine sweetness.

"I have to go," I said, and grabbed my carry-on and set a new speed record for descending stairs while dragging a carry-on at the same time. Once on the street I flagged a taxi and gave the cabbie my own address along with some suggestions as to how he might get there. Cabbies hate that, I'm sure, but I was stressed to my very limits and beyond.

I was still feeling queasy when I entered my building with its elevator and doorman. The doorman stopped me. "We tried to contact you," he said, which are words you never, absolutely never, want to hear from a doorman.

"Mr. Peters, who lives above you, had a heart attack," he said.

"I'm sorry to hear that. How's he doing?" I asked. "What hospital is he in?" I figured I would send him a get-well card.

"He's dead, I'm afraid. He died while taking a bath. Apparently, he drowned. It was horrible," Sam the doorman said. Clearly, he had not reached the key piece he was dreading telling me. Death is always horrible, especially when it's a neighbor, but frankly I did not even like Mr. Peters. He was a grumpy old man who was always trying to look down my blouse.

"The poor man. I'm so sorry," I said.

"Yes, we all are. The funeral is this coming weekend if you'd like to go," he said.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you," I said. What was he still holding back?

"He was adding some hot water to his bath when it happened. That's what the super figures," the doorman said. Uh-oh, I quickly and silently thought.

"I'm afraid there was some flooding that also affected your apartment. You live directly below him, as you know," he said. The other shoe was dropping. "You may not want to enter your apartment right now, especially in a weary state after a long flight. How long was it?"

"Ten hours in the air," I replied, trying to process everything. "There's also the issue of time adjustment. It's a four hour difference currently. Ghana does not use daylight savings time."

"The super said to tell you that he's already contracted for repairs. He'll ask you later for your insurance details."

"Where should I sleep, then?" I asked, quite reasonably, I thought.

"With your man friend?" he said, and seeing my face, he added, "Or a lady friend?"

"Listen, Sam," I said, "Could you call that Bed & Breakfast down the street and see if they have a room free?"

"You mean The Twilight House?" he suggested. "Good idea. Probably insurance will pay for your hotel stay given the circumstances."

"Yes, whatever. I don't know its name, actually."

He called. They had a room. I thanked him and rolled my suitcase down the street to The Twilight House. I felt like I was walking a dog only better because I didn't have to stop while my suitcase did its business or sniffed the trees growing in dedicated spaces cut out of the sidewalks.

I met the Innkeeper Beatrice and explained my situation. She had two rooms available: The Serenity Room and the Eros Room. When she said 'The Eros Room' I broke down crying.

"What's wrong, Ms. Winters?" she asked.

"Isabelle please," I said.

"Okay, Isabelle. What's troubling you? Talk to me sweetheart. Is it a man?"

"Yes," I managed. I was bawling. She ushered me over to a comfortable couch. She sat in an armchair across from me as she patiently and sympathetically extracted the whole sordid story. I was no longer sobbing but only whimpering by the time I was done.

"You need The Eros Room. It has medicinal qualities," she said.

"Okay," I said. I did not have the energy to ask how a hotel room could possibly be medicinal. There was something about Beatrice. She was superbly understanding, comforting, and reassuring, all at the same time.

"Get a good night's sleep. We'll talk in the morning," she said.

"I'll have to go to work early," I said.

"Tomorrow is Saturday. You work on Saturdays?"

"Oh. No, I don't. I guess I'm so stressed I lost track of everything. I'm sorry," I said.

Beatrice gave me a glass of port wine and some blue cheese to go with it. She said it would help, and I believe it actually did. She led me to the Eros Room and showed me around. It had a gorgeous painting of nymphs and centaurs in a pastoral setting. It was captivating. It was hard to tear my eyes away from the painting.

"Over here we have a vibrator in the nightstand drawer. We can provide you with a selection of dildos too if that's where your taste runs," Beatrice said.

I just stared at her in incredulous shock. Beatrice smiled. "I know it's an unusual provision for a bed and breakfast to offer. It's special for the Eros Room," she said.

"Is that why you call it the Eros Room?" I asked.

"That's one of the reasons," Beatrice said, and she gave me a smile that can only be described as enigmatic. We bid each other goodnight, and I undressed and went to bed. That night I had fabulously erotic dreams and I woke up well rested and feeling confident and as if I could conquer the world. I had never before slept that well, I was almost sure!

Breakfast was delicious, too. I felt so good until I thought of Mike and that bimbo again. What was her name? She said she had been pregnant by Mike for three months? Assuming she was telling the truth, that meant Mike had been sleeping with her for at least three months, and I had never even suspected? She knew all about me and I did not even know she existed? And why was this bimbo - what's her name? - okay with such a crazy, sleazy situation? Thank God it was she who was pregnant and not me... Julia! The bimbo's name was Julia.

I did not know what to do. Usually on a Saturday I lose myself in a good book but the shock of losing Mike was much too fresh and too strong. I went to a matinee but all I could think about was Mike and I spontaneously burst into tears from time to time, upsetting the people sitting around me. Finally, I called my best girlfriend Stephanie and asked to meet for coffee. She heard something in my voice and agreed to meet me right away.

There's something about pouring your heart out to your best girlfriend in a Starbucks that's just, well, bizarre. We were surrounded by eavesdroppers. The only privacy we had was the anonymity of New York City: Everyone else there were strangers.

"Sex! Meaningless sex is the only thing that will change the subject. You'll forget all about Mike when some randomly chosen stud gives you an orgasm," Stephanie said. I was not surprised. I think Stephanie would prescribe sex as a cure for the common cold, too, if someone were to ask her. The only thing she thinks sex does not help is a headache.

To my surprise I said, "Sure. I'll try anything. All I need is a man who wants to bed me. How on Earth can I arrange that?" Sinking into the quicksand of self-pity, I added, "I'm such a failure at relationships."

"Are you kidding? With your looks? Every man here at Starbucks right now would like to lay you, you fool," Stephanie said. "Seduction is easier than relationships, you know."

"Well, you're the expert," I said.

Stephanie was unsure if she should be proud or offended by what I had just said. Luckily for me, she chose to go with proud. Then she embarrassed me to the core when she said to the good-looking guy sitting next to us drinking a latte, "Hey, mister. Excuse me. Just to prove a point can I please ask you a question?"

"Sure Ma'am," he said.

"It's Miss," Stephanie said, and the man smiled a sexy smile.

"Sure, Miss. What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Would you be willing to date my friend here this evening? Show her a nice time? She really needs the distraction only a good man can provide," and I died inside when Stephanie winked at him.

The man turned to me. "I'm Errol," he said, and he offered his hand.

I shook his hand and mumbled, "I'm Isabelle. Pleased to meet you," and Errol kissed my hand! No man had ever kissed my hand before since I was six years old and my Uncle Harry kissed my hand, making me feel incomprehensibly all tingly. Damn but I felt the same tingles when Errol kissed my hand!

With Stephanie breathing down my neck I felt I had no choice but to accept the date. Even with Stephanie's pressure I would have refused the date were it not for the night I had just spent in the Eros Room at The Twilight House. Somehow that had changed my perspective on things. I could not put my finger on what happened, exactly, but something had definitely changed in my psychic outlook on life.

Errol was to pick me up at seven at the Twilight House. When Stephanie and I left Starbucks, I was a nervous wreck. "I don't think I can do this, Stephanie. I'd be going out on a date with a stranger for the first time since long before I took up with he-who-shall-not -be-named."

"You mean Mike?" Stephanie asked.

"Please. He's Voldemort, not Mike," I said. "You really need to read the Harry Potter books."

"Of course," Stephanie said. I knew she thought I was nuts and humoring me in the way people act around crazy people spouting nonsense. I knew she meant well, but it kind of annoyed me.

Errol arrived on time and I gave him a tour of the Eros House. Beatrice was there and she encouraged me to show him the Eros Room. She had been so nice to me I was happy to comply. Maybe she thought it was good word of mouth publicity to have people see the rooms and there was no question the Eros Room was special, with its spectacular full-wall painting and its small library of erotic literature.

Errol enjoyed the room. He was a bit on the intellectual side and he gravitated to the books. At one point he stopped. "I feel just a bit strange," he said.

"Yes, I do too," I confirmed. We looked at each other and walked until we were facing each other and very close. He took my head in his hands and kissed me. I was powerless to resist, I don't know why, and I kissed him right back. We kept kissing and I actually began to moan with pleasure! I could not stop myself!

Errol's arms circled my waist as he pulled me against his hardness. I sighed in the erotic pleasure such intimacy between a man and a woman can bring about. My slightly too large breasts pressed against his chest, and his slightly too large hard cock pressed against my tummy as we kissed yet again. We seemed to have the adverb 'slightly' in common.

Finally, I managed to break away. I was breathless. When I recovered, I said, "Weren't you going to take me to dinner?"

"Oh, yes," Errol said, as we left the Eros Room. "I have to apologize. I don't know what came over me. You became irresistible and I am only human, after all," he said.

I giggled in reply. "I'm as surprised as you are. I can't believe how aroused I suddenly became when you kissed me. I've never been like that before. Usually I'm quite conservative and warm to a man only slowly, if at all. Frankly, I'm a little scared of you and the power you seem to have over me. I'm scared of myself," I said.

Errol took me to a cute and romantic little Vietnamese restaurant in the East Village. He charmed my socks off. Could my panties be far behind? I shivered at the thought.

The food was delicious and perhaps because Vietnam was a French colony once upon a time the restaurant had a small but well-chosen selection of French wines that paired perfectly with the food. This date kept getting better.

Next Errol proposed a visit to a special late-night show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was a 'members only' preview of the new exhibition, and he was a member. I had never, not even once, managed to get Mike to come to a museum with me. I was enthralled with the exhibit and also with Errol, I must confess.

At the end of the exhibit Errol took me to the museum store and bought me a gold-plated necklace which was an exact replica of an ancient Aztec gold necklace. In theory it was worn by women because it helped their fertility. I did not currently need that aspect! The Aztecs used solid gold but this was our first date, after all. Never had I been on such a romantic date.

He took me back to the Twilight House when it was time for the date to end. I was too scared of what would happen if I invited him to the Eros Room. As he began to kiss me goodnight Beatrice appeared. She ushered us both into the lobby to offer us some cake and cookies and a glass of 'magical port wine.'

When Errol was finally going to leave definitively and I walked him to the door and he pulled me into him to kiss me, Beatrice almost magically reappeared and said, "You should show your date the Eros Room, Isabelle. It looks different at night."

Before I could find the words to make an excuse not to do that Errol said, "I'd love to see it again. Thank you, Beatrice."

Errol took my hand and led me upstairs to the Eros Room. I was terrified. I don't take men to my bedroom at the conclusion of a first date. I'm not that kind of a girl. Yet, here we were. When we entered the room, I heard sweet voices in my head. Somehow, don't ask me how, I knew the nymphs from the painting were speaking to me. Their voices were soft and sweet but they were commanding. I felt compelled to obey them. I don't know much about hypnosis, but that is what this seemed to be, as near as I could tell.

No surprise, Errol pulled me flush against him and kissed me. I melted, kissing him back and putting my arms around his neck. We kissed a long time. At some point Errol broke the kiss. "May I undress you?" he asked.

Normally I would have been flabbergasted by such a question. Due to the power of the Eros Room (or at least that's the only explanation I can think of), I was not.

"How much?" I asked.

"Everything. I want you naked, Isabelle," he said, and he himself seemed to be surprised he was saying that.

Even more surprising, shocking really, I replied, "May I keep on my new Aztec necklace?" I giggled and Errol smiled broadly. I had said okay without thought, as if I had been commanded to do so by the nymphs.

Errol began to undress me, breaking quite often for more kissing. I could not believe I was letting him do this. This was our first date, for Pete's sake! I barely knew the man! But I was letting him undress me, there was no question, and the proof that I was giving him permission was my image in the mirror. I was naked, save for my beautiful Aztec fertility necklace.

"You're even more beautiful naked, Isabelle. Isabelle is such a pretty name," Errol said, kissing me and feeling my boobs thoroughly but with great care, as if he were afraid of breaking them.

"My name's French. My mother is French," I said. "When I was a small girl she spoke to me exclusively in French. I learned English from my father."

"Is that why you're so sexy?" Errol asked, playfully.

"Aren't all naked women with fertility necklaces in a bedroom sexy?" I asked, giggling some more. I giggle when I'm nervous.

"Do you know what I'd like to do with you, my lovely, sexy, delightful Isabelle?" Errol asked.

"No, but I want you to do it all. Whatever you want, Errol. Il n'y a qu'à demander," I said, regressing to the French of my childhood.

"Was that French?" Errol asked.

"Yes, sorry. I don't know what's happening to me. I'm naked in my hotel room with a sexy man, and inadvertently speaking French. What's happening? Do you understand this, Errol?" I asked, plaintively.

"I don't know either, but I like it. You're not naked, Isabelle. You're wearing an Aztec necklace," Errol said as he undressed. The necklace dangled suggestively right in the middle of cleavage.

Suddenly I became very interested in his nice, hard cock. Fascinated, actually. I could not stop looking at it. I moved closer to Errol. I reached down and took his cock into my small, soft, and feminine hand. I began to fondle it.

"You have a nice cock, Errol," I said. "Tu as un beau pénis."

"What did you say in French?" Errol asked.

I said, "I'm yours. Do with me and to me whatever you want. Then I said I like your cock." I could not believe I just said that! It was totally not like me. What was happening to me? I caught a glimpse of the painting and the nymphs were gleefully smiling. I began to stroke Errol's cock.

"Do you want to taste it?" Errol asked. It was his way of asking for a blowjob.