At lunch yesterday, I went out with an older guy that has been coming on to me. He has told me he is not at all interested in fucking me(!), but has a 6 inch tongue and breathes through his ears (grin), and would love to give me an experience that I would always remember and want to repeat over and over.
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I always have trouble sleeping in a hotel, especially the first night, so it is no surprise I am wide awake at midnight. I pour another glass of wine and open my laptop. I start searching for some gay porn so I can get off. Alcohol and orgasm are my go-to cure for insomnia. The hard part, aside from my cock, is finding a video that shows "real" guys. Shaved, oiled twinks don't really do it for me. Well. A shaved, oiled twink in the flesh might but I've never met one in real life.
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"Come here."
I've been watching Sarah for the last few minutes. My book closed on my finger, marking my place. She's been, I don't know, bopping? Fiddling? Fussing? Not really doing anything, just, waffling around. She's barefooted in jeans. So,
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LeRoy was sitting on the porch, rocking and rubbing the head of that old hound dog of his, as Dinah walked up the stone path from the mailbox at the edge of the muddy road. She had walked slow up from the bus stop in the nearest town, at the mouth of a fold back into the Blue Ridge. The suitcase she was lugging, balanced on the other side by her guitar case, was heavy, but she wasn't walking slow because of that weight. She was weighed down by something more serious than that.
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"Fore!!!" Sam shouted as he swung the club, striking the little white ball with a resounding 'crack."
I held my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun as I watched the ball sail into the distance, veering off to the right before disappearing into a copse of tall trees.
"God Damn It!" he cursed, pounding the driver into the turf in frustration.
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My parents started teaching my brothers and me at a very young age the importance of helping others, though they stressed that helping wasn't necessarily limited to the less fortunate or the poor or the needy. Basically what they taught was that if someone was lacking an ability or resource that you possessed, the right thing to do was to offer it to them. We were also taught to do this out of the goodness of our hearts rather than for personal gain, but we learned that the people we were helping usually did not want to be considered charity cases, so they'd often overcompensate by paying us extremely well for our help.
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Jennifer opened the door to her hotel room. She looked like she was almost ready to go to the office. She had on a lovely royal blue blouse and a snug, but not too snug, black skirt that came to a couple of inches above the top of her knees. No shoes yet, but fiddling with her earrings.
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I am nervous as I walk up the stairwell. The sound of my shoes scuffing each stair reflects off the dingy once-white walls of the narrow hallway like an insistent warning, telling me to turn around and walk away with every step. Yet I continue, pursuing my chosen course with the same timid determination that has carried me through this day. Ever since I came out to my car and found the note tucked underneath my wiper blade.
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I sat in the lounge, swirling my gin & tonic, absently tapping a finger to the piped music. Nothing about this trip had lined up as it should have: a week in Florence, now on my second day in Rome, with nothing to show for it. My backers would not be pleased, but I was not concerned with their disapproval. I'm too much of a professional to place anything above my own standards.
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Well, I have no one to blame but myself, I suppose. Love and lust make us all do some pretty strange things, sometimes, but I never thought that I'd be looking forward to...wait! Let me tell you this story from the beginning.
I had wanted Gina for as long as I can remember. She was just so cool, calm & collected. A strong woman, and so aloof at times that it maddened me.
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