This is dedicated to KRR1957, one of the best authors on Literotica, whose stories have inspired this one.
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I was jolted awake by the bump of the plane as the wheels hit the runway. My mind was foggy for just a few seconds, trying to remember where I was. Looking out the window of the plane provided no clue; it could have been almost any small city airport anywhere in the country. Then my mind kicked in enough for me to remember, "Oh yes, Kansas City."
I had begun my day with the clock radio going off at 4:30 in the morning in order to give me enough time to shower, shave, throw on some clothes, and make the short ride to the airport to catch my flight. I was off to yet another meeting, and I struggled to remember why it was being held in Kansas City. For the life of me I couldn't think of a reason, other than it's pretty much smack dab in the middle of the country and a not unreasonable location for the participants arriving from the west coast, the south, and like me, from the east.
The meeting was of an advisory board of a research project on which I served. There were too many of these over the course of the year, but one of my (many) weaknesses in life is an inability to say "no" to friends when they ask for a favor. Having been a professor for approximately two decades, I had developed enough of a reputation across the country that my services, knowledge, and advice were often enough sought out for events like this, as well as to share that knowledge at conferences and other venues. I tried to keep my ego in check, and not come across as one of those obnoxious professors whose head was somewhat larger than the basketball arena at my campus. I think I usually succeeded, though on an occasion or two I would find myself slipping into prima donna mode.
When Robert Roberts (yes, that was his real name -- I often thought what kind of parents would do that to their kid?) asked me to serve on this advisory board, I agreed, figuring it would not be so onerous, one meeting a year for the three year life of the project along with an occasional conference call, reading of progress reports, and the like. Robert -- jokingly called "Bobby Bob" by his friends -- had often responded to my calls for assistance, so I felt like I owed him this one. But now sitting on an airplane taxiing to the gate at 9:30 in the morning, I of course regretted my acquiescence. But having known Bobby since graduate school, where we were in the same cohort, I knew I'd do exactly the same thing the next time he called.
As the chime went on and the seat belt light went off, I rose with a sigh, grabbed my backpack from the floor, suitcase from the overhead compartment (which true to the warning of the flight attendant, had slid about three rows ahead upon landing), and trudged off of the plane. I made my way to ground transportation and grabbed a cab, telling the driver, "Hyatt Regency downtown, please." The driver nodded his assent, and without another word between the two of us, drove me to the hotel.
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The first day of the advisory board meeting concluded right on time at 5:30p, just about as my attention span was at its nadir. The ten of us -- made up of Bobby, three of the researchers on his project team, and the six advisory board members -- climbed into three taxis and headed to the trendy French bistro for dinner. Well, "trendy," I guess, by Kansas City standards. This was a typical part of these sojourns. Most projects could never pay the advisory board members enough of an honorarium for the amount of time and inconvenience to which we were subjected, so they tried to make up for it by treating us as nicely as possible when we met.
I had braced myself to be taken to a steakhouse, befitting of the city's reputation as the land of the cow, so was pleasantly surprised by the restaurant choice. The food was actually quite good, I'm sure among the best meals you could get in Kansas City that did not revolve around a hunk of meat approximately a pound and a half or so in weight.
I was seated at dinner next to Noreen Taylor, a colleague who had known for some number of years. We were not friends, by any means, but knew each other well enough to be on a first-name basis, largely from seeing each other at professional events around the country. She was about my age, having also started her career two decades ago. We made pleasant chitchat during dinner, getting caught up on professional gossip, who was changing jobs, who was getting promoted, who had been embroiled in some scandal (sleeping with a student, cheating on expense vouchers, and the like) at their universities. The conversation was pleasant enough, though toward the end of the dinner the fatigue really began to hit, no doubt abetted by the three glasses of Bordeaux that had accompanied my French meal.
Noreen and I were in the same taxi going back to the Hyatt, and as we entered the lobby, she asked if I would like to join her for a drink in the hotel's bar. I tried to beg off, explaining the early start to my journey that morning, but she was insistent.
"Listen, Bob -- I really want to talk to you about something," she said. "I need some advice, and I know you can help me."
Even though I was tired, and wanted nothing more than to return to my room, get my clothes off, and get into bed to read a bit of my book before I went to sleep, I reluctantly agreed. I followed her into the bar of the Hyatt, where we sat at a table in the corner.
We each ordered a glass of wine, she switching to a white and I sticking with the Bordeaux on which I had started at the restaurant. Noreen began outlining her situation to me, involving a difficult graduate student with whom she was working. I listened, and asked a few questions, to which she filled in more information.
After the glasses of wine arrived, Noreen took a sip of hers and said, "Would you do me a favor, Bob, and go up to the bar and ask them if they have any pretzels or nuts or anything. I like to have a little nibble with my wine." I was well sated from the rich French food, and had no desire for anything else to eat, but said to her, "Sure."
I went up to the bar and asked the bartender for some snacks, and he returned in a minute or two with a bowl of some kind of Chex mix. I carried it back to the table, and Noreen smiled as I sat it down and said, "Thanks, Bob."
We continued our conversation, and I gave Noreen advice on how to handle the student. She seemed genuinely appreciative, and after finishing our glasses of wine, she signaled the waitress for the bill. When it came, I went to reach for it, but Noreen grabbed it before I could, saying, "Please Bob, let me -- I really appreciate your advice, so the least I can do is buy you a glass of wine."
"Thanks, Noreen," I replied, and we both rose and headed for the elevators. But as I stood up, I felt incredibly dizzy, and immediately plopped myself down in the seat again.
