The majority of this story was written before Hurricane Katrina devastated the Big Easy. Even having seen pictures, I cannot imagine the destruction a storm of that magnitude could cause. The hotel in the story was one of New Orleans’ finest. . . I do not know if it was damaged in the hurricane or not.
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He said his name was Garrett. She had never seen him "in real life" or IRL, as it was called in chat. She had seen pictures of him, the ones he sent her by e-mail and webcam shots while they were on instant messenger together. At least, she had seen parts of him, but not as someone might expect to see pictures of a person one had been talking, or rather chatting to, for over a year. The parts of him that she had seen were quite impressive. She knew he had dark hair, and he had told her he had a beard. But Lisenne had never seen a headshot of him. He had even granted her wish to watch him cum for her on the cam, and knew she wanted to feel his cock pounding her pussy, cumming deep inside her. He knew some of her most private fantasies. But he steadfastly refused to let her see him above his waist.
She had never heard his voice either. She had only "heard" the words he had written. They were quite impressive, too. The words he wrote made her nipples hard and her pussy juices run. They had been engaged in an erotic correspondence for most of the time they had been chatting. It was he who suggested meeting IRL.
They lived far enough apart to consider meeting halfway. At least, he had told her he lived in St. Louis and she had no real reason to believe that wasn't true. She lived in Dallas. She had several things to consider about an in person meeting. Most important was safety. She had been online for years, chatting with people and had heard the horror stories, but thankfully, had never experienced one. But then, given the number of people she had chatted with online, she had met relatively few in person. She had always taken the necessary precautions – she had her own transportation, her own cell phone and her own money. Someone, usually her closest girlfriend, knew where she was going.
This meeting, if she decided to go, would be different. What he proposed was meeting in a city close enough for each of them to comfortably drive. They would stay at a luxury hotel, in separate rooms. He had offered to pay for both rooms, as well as meals for the weekend – a thoughtful and gallant offer, she granted, but not one she would accept if she went. She always paid her own way.
Then, there was always chemistry. She was well aware that the sexual attraction they had online might evaporate when they met face to face. Some people were less inhibited online than in real life. She had met two – one male and the other female – who seemed like mere shells of their online personae in person.
He didn't know what she looked like either – well, at least how she would look in public. She had asked him about that in an e-mail. . . how would they recognize each other when they met in the bar before dinner the first night? Did he want to trade pictures? He said no, which came as a surprise to her, since he had been quite eager to see pics and webcam shots of her for several months, telling her in erotic e-mails how he masturbated to her pics and relating details about the ways he wanted to fuck her. He wanted instead for her to wear a flower in her hair. He would approach her in the hotel bar. She wasn't sure she wanted to give him that much control.
There was no other man for her to consider when making the decision, and he had assured her he was not married or living with someone. She had tried to make it clear in her initial hesitation to meet that she did not want to complicate her life. He replied that he understood completely, and she could be assured there would be no nasty confrontations during or after their meeting. She knew she needed to give him an answer soon.
She rose from the computer chair and opened the door to the patio. The day was beautiful – sunny, with a slight breeze that brought the fragrance of the antique roses she grew wafting into the room. She stepped out onto the patio and picked up her pruners. There was only a momentary pause before she made her choice from the climber at the end of the patio. The cerise pink of the Zephirine Drouhin tucked behind her ear would look striking against her dark hair, she mused as she clipped a bloom from a draping branch. Lisenne's bemused smile gave way to a wicked grin. _______________________________________________ In the end, she had chosen their destination city. The landing was a smooth one, the wheels on the landing gear making the customary squeaks on the runway that signaled the end of a safe journey. She looked out her window, and saw the heat shimmering up from the tarmac. New Orleans in late June was hot, humid and oppressive by day, and deliciously decadent by night.
She deplaned and headed straight for the rental car booth. She had decided to fly to save time, and rent a car for ground transportation. The car was ready and full of fuel. Since she hadn't checked baggage, it took less than a half an hour before she was headed to the hotel.
The Maison Dupuy was one of the French Quarter's finest old hotels, just two blocks from Bourbon Street. Although it had been a while since she had stayed there, she had been a guest frequently enough to earn some extra courtesy and consideration from the hotel staff. Check in was brief and efficient, and she went to her room to settle in.
