It was not late when I arrived at my hotel that evening, but night came quickly to those northern latitudes at that desolate time of year and frosty darkness cloaked the thick, leafy borders and high hedges of the hotel grounds. I was booked-in by a quiet, busty blonde. It had been a long day; training had been intense and if she gave an appraising glance to the dark, athletic guest in soiled sports gear then I was too tired to notice. I wanted room, shower and bed in that order. Unusually -- for I am fastidious about such things -- I had not showered directly after the session, eager to get to my lodgings. I had waved goodbye to the boys; leaving them to their banter as they vanished bare-arsed into the steamy envelope of the wash rooms and shouldering my bag I left them to it.
"Room 302 sir, on the third floor. Turn left out of the lift and through the double doors. Breakfast is served in the restaurant from seven until nine-thirty in the morning." The girl gave a small, tight-lipped smile dimpling her cheeks. As she leaned forward to push the heavy key across the counter, her blouse fell open slightly, revealing her ample breasts. Where the plump flesh nestled into the restraining fabric of her brassiere I glimpsed the smooth pink skin texture and darken.
In the cramped confines of the lift I stretched and massaged the aching muscles of my neck and shoulders. If I had been with someone -- and they had asked me -- I might have confessed then to a feeling of apprehension, a slight thrill of unease through my tired body. As it was, it passed almost unnoticed striking me as nothing out of the ordinary. This was an old building, eighteenth or perhaps even seventeenth century and you never knew quite what you were going to get, accustomed as we all are now to the bland homogeny of modern hotel chains. I walked the dark and antiquely furnished hallway to my room, fumbling for a minute with a stiff lock before stepping through the warped and creaking door.
Whew! The room was like a furnace! I threw my bag into a corner and groped for the light switch, already starting to remove my clothes. In the glow of fake oil-lamps I drew off my shirt, kicked off my trainers and slid my shorts and boxers down my legs, stepping out of them I crossed to the window. I opened the casement and stood for a moment, letting the chill night air raise goose bumps over my chest and over the ridged muscles of my naked abdomen.
Heading for the bathroom, I absorbed the details of the room. It seemed fine -- opulent even, with no trace of the neglect or decay that I had quietly feared. The hard surfaces gleamed, the carpets were soft and thick, the decor tasteful if darker and more sombre than was the fashion. Dominating the room was a huge bed, crisp and clean looking with thick covers and an imposing wooden headboard. As a nod to modernity a TV, phone and PC were perched upon a huge sideboard facing the bed; mute, blank voyeurs; waiting, expectant.
