Ah, the life of a Salesman. When not on an airplane or in a car, I can most likely be found in a manufacturing plant pushing my wares or passing the time in a hotel room. This glamorous career of mine his driven away three wives, thankfully no children have been involved. After my third divorce I promised myself not to get married again until I stopped traveling or retired.
About a month ago I spent some time in the Chicago area. I had been there more times than I care to remember. After the first few visits I found a nice, centrally located hotel, not having to pack up and change hotels during a visit is always a treat.
I landed in O’Hare just after 11:00pm, finally walked into my hotel room at nearly 1:00am. After hanging up my suits, unpacking my bag, filling in the room service breakfast card, and setting a wake-up call, I groggily undressed and pulled on my short white nightgown and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
It was my third wife who introduced me to women’s sleepwear. On my first night back after a particularly long trip overseas, my wife pampered me through the evening. The jetlag was wearing on me, and I know she noticed. So early in the evening, she drew a hot bath for me and set candles around the rim of the tub. I soaked for a short time and decided to get out before I fell asleep and drowned.
After drying off I went to find my pajamas. My wife had unpacked my suitcase, of course my p.j.’s were in the middle of the wash cycle. She happened into the room just then and realized what had happened and knowing that is the only pair I own, she pulled one of her clean nightgowns from a drawer and apologized unnecessarily.
Being too tired to care, I pulled it on and fell onto the bed. A ‘tent’ soon appeared under the gown which had required no external coaxing. The smooth feeling of the silky material did something to me. My cock became harder then it had been in a long time. Needless to say I found the energy to make love to her which turned out to be the best sex in our marriage. I have slept in nothing except nightgowns since that night and have accumulated a nice collection of different colors and materials.
Startled from my sleep by a knock on the door, breakfast already? Glancing to the digital clock on the night table, it read 5:30am. Not surprised my wake-up call didn’t occur, I scrambled out of bed and shouted through the door, “Room Service?”
“Breakfast is served.” A feminine voice replied.
“Just leave it there, thanks.”
Tip-toeing to the door, I waited until the sound of the foot-steps had faded and the hallway was silent. Then cracked the door open, no one in sight, I opened the door a bit more, bent down and grabbed my breakfast of oatmeal, orange juice and coffee. I heard a giggle from the far end of the hall by the elevators. Slowly turning my head I saw a young lady of Latin descent in her early twenties, dressed in the standard room service uniform, covering her mouth and giggling at the sight she was seeing. She hand long dark hair pulled up in a bun on top of her head. She couldn’t have been more than an inch over five feet, and I would be surprised if her weight was in triple digits.
I would probably laugh if I were in her position, a guy in his mid-forties, of medium height and weight, just having gotten out of bed, wearing only a dark green nightie with spaghetti straps that ended at mid-thigh, bending over in the hall picking up his breakfast. Yes, I would be laughing my ass off if I stood where she was standing, but I wasn’t.
I did the only thing that I could do, I picked up the tray, smiled at her and shouted thank you down the hall, quickly ducked back into my room before she could offer a reply. Having missed my wake-up call, I didn’t have time to dwell on what had happened, rushing around the room getting ready for the day ahead. Just before leaving the room, I reviewed my schedule, grabbed my briefcase and car keys and walked out the door.
The day was uneventful and passed by quickly, I avoided making dinner plans, looking forward to room service and the book I was in the middle of. The lack of sleep was catching up with me and I needed to call this an early night.
I arrived back in my room and called room service, as I pressed the button on the phone I remembered my encounter earlier that same day. Quickly shoving the memory from my mind I ordered dinner as I scanned the channels for the news. The man who took my order said it would be up in 30 minutes. And having stayed here before I knew 30 minutes meant 30 minutes.
Giving up on the news, I took off my suit and hung it up in the closet, changing into my denim shorts and t-shirt which was much more appropriate attire for Chicago in July. My dinner arrived right on time, I welcomed the young man into my room as I went to find a tip. He set the tray down on a small table and stood near the bed waiting for me. I turned to face him with a five dollar bill in hand, to find him flipping the pillow over on my bed. Under the pillow was my nightgown, it looked as if it were washed and pressed.
“What…” was all I could manage to say.
“Leslie, the girl who brought you your breakfast couldn’t help but tell a few people about the “man” in 515. The cleaning crew found your nightie on the floor and decided to clean it up for you.” this was said in a very commanding and condescending tone. “You should be more careful about where you leave your things.”
“What do you want?” getting scared at this point, this guy stood 4 inches taller and out weighed me by at least 40 pounds and all of it appeared to be muscle. His light brown hair was cut short and his bright blue eyes looked tense.
“Well, I have been wondering what you would look like it this thing.” He said as he looked at the gown hanging from his fingertip, “Put it on.” And he tossed it to me.
“You have got to be kidding! No way am I going to let you see me in this! What are you a fag?” I shouted at him taking a step toward him, all the while hoping to intimidate him.
My bravery was soon shattered when his open palm came out of no where and struck my cheek. I feel to the floor and felt the entire side of my face become very warm.
In a very firm voice he demanded, “Put the fucking thing on or do you want to get slapped around some more?”
Grabbing the gown and standing up while cupping my cheek, quickly considering my options, there weren’t many: #1-make a break for the door, he would surely catch me, #2-put up a fight, he would surely beat me to a pulp, #3-put the gown on and see what happens. It seemed to be the least appealing to my ego, but I said “Okay, I’ll put it on, just chill out. There is no need to get violent.”
He stood there with his arms crossed on his chest and nodded his head. Then starting toward the bathroom, he led the way and stood in front of the door to the hall. I closed and locked the door, scanning the room for a phone, nothing! Dammit! Why didn’t I spend the extra twenty bucks for a room at the Hilton across the street?
