As the final turkey leftovers are thrown out, the decorations packed away and the new year settles in, I am usually grateful that the festivities are at an end. Though I like Christmas and all the family get togethers, I am usually left exhausted, recovering from the seasonal bout of flu. And so this year is no different. I lie in bed, awake far too early for a public holiday and my mind begins to wander to the precious days before the festivities began. To that afternoon spent in a hotel room with the economist (formerly M&A).
We had agreed to meet before he flew out for the holidays and so it was the last day before Christmas when I made my way to the five star hotel in central London. He had chosen the hotel for its proximity to the Royal Opera house, which is where I was meeting my husband and family later that evening. He had checked in first, texting me the room number and so I walked confidently into the lobby, smiling at the receptionist and striding into the lift, trying not to look like a woman about to commit adultery. Again.
My heart beat a little faster as the lift took me to his floor. The corridor was warm and muffled, thick carpets and heavy wallpaper dampened the sound of my footsteps as I approached his room. I was already dressed for the opera – a black vintage 50s dress, red petticoat, red heels, black stockings and black pearls. I stopped outside the room and drew a long breath, then knocked. I heard movement from within and the door opened quietly. The economist smiled at me and opened the door wider to let me in. He took my face in his hands and kissed my lips softly. My cheeks were still cold and his hands felt wonderfully warm. He looked into my eyes and said: ‘Be gentle with me, I’m terribly hung over.’ I smiled and teased him a little – we had joked that I had only ever seen him hung over, which to be fair, was only three times. We remained standing as we kissed, his hands warming my face and our kisses hot, slow at first, then becoming heated, tongues searching for one another. He unbuttoned my coat as he kissed my cheeks and neck. The coat dropped and I tugged at his sweater, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. I could feel his firm body through his shirt and a jolt shot through my sex. He fumbled with the fastening on my dress, I unhooked his belt and ran my fingers inside his jeans until I could undo the buttons of his flies. They dropped to the floor and he slipped off my dress, leaving me standing in my heels, petticoat and stockings. He pulled his buttoned up shirt over his head and gently sat me down on the edge of the bed. Kneeling before me, he removed one shoe at a time, keeping his eyes fixed on mine.
I lay back and let him climb astride me. We kissed and stroked one another enjoying the anticipation of our nakedness. I observed his body, his strong shoulders, lean torso and muscular legs. He has the body of a sportsman, yet the palest of skins, its delicacy belying the scars he carries from rugby injuries. I let my fingers find the rim of his boxers and began to slide them down, revealing his straining cock. He dropped onto the bed next to me and I removed his underwear, leaving him completely naked and erect. Smiling up at him, I guided his cock into my mouth and began to massage his shaft with my lips and tongue. He tasted good. I could hear him moan gently as I pressed my tongue to the pulsating vein at the base and traced its flow all the way up to the tip. Taking his balls in my left hand and firmly clasping the base of his penis with my right thumb and middle finger, I began to devour him, sucking, licking, pressing to a rhythm my own cunt dictated. He held my hair as he began to climax and I let him burst into my mouth, swallowing each shot as it came, a warm trickle escaping out of the corner of my mouth. When he was spent, I sat up and looked at him – he had gained some colour in his cheeks, a delicate rash on his chest hinting at the rush of orgasm.
He pulled me onto the bed and ripped off my stockings and petticoat, plunging his head between my legs, lapping at my freshly waxed cunt. I could feel the force with which he wanted to devour me, the pressure of his torso against my cocked legs and his fingers feeling inside me, reaching for that hidden spot of pleasure. I was conscious of how quickly he had become erect again and pulled his head up to kiss him, tasting my own juices as I did so. Deftly, he put on a condom and positioned his hips above mine, slipping deep inside me. A wave of delight washed over my body as we thrust into darkness, the red fleshy sea taking hold of us both. His movements had such zeal, such energy, I let myself be carried away to his rhythm, his force. My hands slipped on his back as sweat began to lubricate our bodies. We rolled over so that I was on top, such a perfect view of his face. He reached up and fondled my breasts as I gyrated on his cock, feeling its hardness touch deep inside my womb. He pulled me down to take my nipples in his mouth. There was such a rawness and frantic desire about him. I wanted him to enter me from behind, like animals. Leaning my arms against the padded headboard and kneeling with my legs apart, he understood exactly what I wanted him to do. He grasped my hips, pulling my ass towards him and plunged his cock into my pussy, the pressure of which pushed my face against the headboard as well. It felt incredible, he filled me so entirely. We fucked and fucked, trying different positions, each one was frantically constructed and deconstructed in favour of a new one. The sweat dripped and our bodies felt as if they were on fire. Collapsing on the bed together, I decided to take him once more in my mouth. His cock tasted of me and it felt like there was more cum the second time he squirted his juices into my mouth. As the waves of orgasm receded, we lay there, arm in arm panting heavily. My senses were so heightened, so on edge from the rawness of it all, that when he delicately touched my clit with his fingers, I felt as if I was walking on the edge of an abyss. He kept me clinging on, teasing, as if playing the harp. The tingling was ever present in all my limbs, just waiting for the final release. And then it came. I let him have my orgasm, it came in slow, increasing circles until each touch of his finger was a tremor deep inside me.
We had four hours in that hotel room together. Chatting, kissing, touching; our first foray into the affair. When it was time to leave, I showered, dressed, perfumed and styled myself for the opera. We shared a drink in the hotel bar before he left for the airport and I strolled to meet husband and family for dinner and opera.
The strangest thing happened on that walk to the restaurant: a man in his forties walked past me in the opposite direction and blew a kiss in my direction. Not recognising his action in time to dismiss him or smile at him, I pressed on. A minute later, he tapped me on the shoulder and said:
‘I didn’t mean any disrespect. Can I give you my number?’
I was so surprised by his advance that I just smiled apologetically and told him I was married. He smiled back and thanked me, then we parted. The scenario made me wonder what signals I must have been giving out that a complete stranger would approach me so directly? Perhaps, it is more a matter of when it rains, it pours.