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An Unexpected Rendezvous by Adoring Fan

An Unexpected Rendezvous

I practically fall in the door that afternoon, clutching my purse, the grocery bags, and the mail, keys jangling in my right hand.

The front door balanced on my shoulder, I push my way into my apartment, kicking the left heel of my shoe off with the toe of my right one, then reversing the process. I drop my packages on the couch and wiggle my toes in relief into the cool carpet, kicking my heels into the corner and taking a deep breath.

I pad through the living room in my stocking feet, wiping my face on my sleeve. By God, it's hot in New Jersey in August. The transition from cool, air-conditioned car to hot, sticky apartment made it feel as though my clothes were melting into my skin. Pulling my blouse free from my waistband and reaching behind me to unzip my skirt, I peer at the answering machine and count the blinks... one... two... three... four... Four?? Wow, I thought, those mortgage-refinance telemarketers must have been working overtime today. Or maybe it's the sewer system people this time, a little variety. I punch the 'play' button as I slide out of my skirt, kick it off, and toss it over the arm of the couch, grabbing the grocery bags and bringing them into the kitchen. I begin to unload into the fridge as I listen to the messages.

Lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, lemons to the bottom drawer... "Hi! We have an exciting offer for you from Universal Card Services! Just call 1-800-223..."

Frozen veggies, frozen pizza [it's my vice, good nutrition be damned], low-fat Ben & Jerry's to the freezer... *BEEP*... "Hi! It's Sara from Dr. McMillian's office, it's time for your six month cleaning, please call to schedule your ap..."

Milk, OJ, lunch meat, eggs, bread to the top shelf, it's too damn hot to leave the bread out, it'll mold... *BEEP* "Hey, you there? Hello? Hello? {sigh} Ok, it's Paul. Call me, please. We've been invited to a barbecue this weekend by Joe over in Finance & Acquisition and I need to you come. Command performance, you know how it is. I'll be home..." I make a face as I slam the ketchup into the door shelf. Of course he'll be home, he doesn't do anything else. Paul and I have been dating for 6 months and I'm already feeling like an old, married lady: Following orders, presentable on his arm at parties, walking an appropriate 6 paces behind him in public. I grin thinking of myself in a kimono - full wig and white makeup - head bowed as I shuffle behind Paul at the barbecue, looking so clean and sharp and utterly promotable in his chino's and golf shirt... And so utterly boring.

Groaning, I stand up, my knees complaining loudly. Grabbing the egg noodles out of the grocery bag and reaching up to open the cabinet door over the stove. *BEEP* "Ummmmm... hi..."

I freeze, noodles crunching in my hand, still reaching up on my toes to the shelf.

"... Well, you probably know who this is, even though it's been a while..." Leaving the cabinet door open, I walk out of the kitchen and into the living room toward the answering machine, crushing the bag of pasta in my fist. "Kind of ironic, but I'm going to be in New York this week, that trip we had always planned on." I stand directly over the answering machine, leaning forward, as if getting closer would change the message and make it all be some weird Freudian event I was having.

"So, I'll be there on the seventh, Tuesday. Tomorrow. The number at the hotel is (212)86..." I weaken in the knees, sitting on the side of the couch. The noodles falls to the cushion and then to the floor. "I'd really like you to call me, even though things aren't quite the same anymore I think we should at least have dinner. I hope all is well with you. Take care, hon..."

I rub my left foot against the sole of my right as I listen to the machine beep three times and finally rewind. Leaning back against the couch cushions I realize I've been holding my breath and let it out in a gasp. Falling back and letting myself slide into the body of the couch, my legs dangling over the arm, I stare at the ceiling. Wow. Holy fucking wow. I hadn't heard Dave's voice in over six months, since his girlfriend had caught some of my more racy emails to him and he in turn caught a major case of the 'guilts'. He'd proclaimed his love for her loudly and condemned our 'one night stand', promising to stay true blue to his one love and never be led astray by such a Jezebel (me) again. I was hurt but respectful of his feelings and I had bowed out of the picture gracefully. The most contact we'd had was a few friendly, chatty emails - maybe 4 or 5 over the past several months. It still hurt, a warm tight spot in my stomach when I thought of what might have been.

That trip to New York. The trip where we had planned to meet again, almost a year after that conference in Chicago, and see if there really was anything between us or if it was all the false intimacy of a whirlwind 3-day affair after an extended internet relationship. We weren't star-struck kids, we were both in our late twenties and knew better than to assume that we would get along long-term as well as we did online and on the phone. Dave lived in Sussex, England and his company had a branch in New York. The trip had been planned long before we ever slept together at the ill-fated conference, but he had requested not to be sent when things between us went awry. I think his girlfriend also had a hand in that, knowing I didn't live too far from the city. Can't say that I blamed her, really. I would have felt the same way in her position if it was my man exchanging racy emails with some strange woman over the 'net. Little did she know how well he actually knew me, I thought spitefully, remembering being tied tightly to the bed at the Marriott while Dave knelt between my legs...

I pull my knees to my chest and chewed on my lip thoughtfully, remembering the first time I had ever actually seen what Dave looked like. We'd chatted for months online before that, really enjoying each other's company. He was funny, clever, and incredibly biting in his humor - I'd loved it, often getting up early in the morning before work just to log on and chat for a bit before I had to go to work to get around the time difference. I told myself it didn't really matter if he was an ogre, but hell, we all know that's not true. As cerebral as a relationship may be, a cute ass is never anything to sneeze at.

Then one day he set up a webcam in his office and told me to take a look. I have to admit, I almost didn't want to do it: Worried about shattering the illusions I may be harboring, I think. But I did look and... wow. Wow oh wow, he was incredibly handsome. Black hair cut very short, with flecks of grey; blue eyes with very long lashes; high cheekbones; wide, friendly smile; lean, lanky body of a soccer player. Man, I had known I was in trouble then, it was the beginning of the end. He had way too much going for him for me not to fall... hard. I push my hair off of my sweaty forehead and sit up abruptly. Enough of that, I try to tell myself. It's all in the past. It was an exciting, erotic little diversion, but now it's over. Annoyed, I grab the pasta off of the floor and stomp into the kitchen, throwing it hard into the cabinet and slamming the door shut. The shock was wearing off and now I was starting to get pissed. How dare he just call me like that, out of the blue, and think I'd be fine with it! Arrogant fuckhead.

Breathing heavily, I walk out onto the deck and watch the children in the parking lot below playing 'kick the can.' I lean against the wooden railing as a young boy and girl no more than ten or eleven years old toe off nose to nose, screaming at each other as to whether or not someone was 'tagged'. I can barely hear the words, "Was not!"

"Was TOO!" but the anger in their faces is unmistakable. The other kids stand by, gaping, as it turns into a shoving match. I stand up and almost open my mouth to yell down at them then hesitate, laughing as the young girl, frizzy hair escaping from her ponytail, rears back and kicks her nemesis in the shin as hard as she can. Even from my perch I can see his face crumple into tears, then he's a blur of running sneakers and flailing arms as he flees, wailing, into the apartment building. Satisfied, the young girl crosses her arms on her chest and turns on her heel to face the other players. "MY point!" she yells, running back to position. The other kids give one last look toward the door the other boy fled through, then turn their attention back to the game, their friend already forgotten.

Still smiling, I go back into the apartment and head for a cool shower, stripping off the last of my sticky clothes and dropping them into the hallway. I emerge about 20 minutes later, wrapped in a towel and leaving wet footprints in the carpet as I pick up the phone and begin dialing. "Yes, hi! I need to leave a message for a guest that's checking in tomorrow afternoon, if possible. His name is David Mc..."


I pause in front of the hotel's revolving door that next night, catching my breath. I'd chosen to take the DeCamp Bus into Port Authority instead of driving, then walk the 7 blocks to the hotel instead of taking a taxi. Somehow, I felt that this way would give me an opportunity to back out, let me alter my course more easily than taking the knuckle-whitening drive into Manhattan. Even as I walked down the hallway to the escalator on the 3rd floor, heading to street level, I'd thought to myself, Hey, I can always catch a cab outside on 8th and head down to SoHo instead, surprise a few friends living in the area...

But I keep walking instead, adjusting my large bag tightly over my shoulder and towards the front of my body to discourage any potential bag-snatchers. I cut across Theatre Row and up 6th Ave, toward Rockerfeller Center. The heat had broken a little so I wasn't as drenched as I'd feared I'd be, thank God. Finally standing in front the hotel, I straightened myself and brushed my hair into place, running my hands across my hips and feeling the expensive silk of my 'little black dress' fall into line. I'd dressed carefully, calculatingly. I knew the dress was sexy without being trashy or too revealing, but classy without being uninviting. I smiled to myself as I pushed through the revolving door, feeling the blast of cool air hit my face, knowing I looked perfect.

My heels click against the marble floor of the hotel foyer as I turn right by the front desk, heading toward the elevator bank. I can feel a few appreciative glances on me as I stride purposefully down the hallway, but there's no time to enjoy that now. Alone in the elevator, I glimpse at my reflection in the mirrored wall, satisfied I was presentable. A soft 'ding' and my muffled footsteps in the plush carpet later, I was in front of Dave's door. I click my nails against it and it opens almost immediately, leaving me face to face with the man I had pined over for months. Looking well-rested and scrubbed, his hair still wet from the shower, he gathers me in a tight hug, pulling me into the room. "Well, just look at you," he murmurs, shutting the door behind us and taking my bag from my shoulder, dropping it on the dresser.

I hold his hand to my cheek, smiling softly, taking in the self-assured tilt to his lips, the scent of his expensive cologne. He gestured to the table and two chairs set before the window, a bottle of wine resting in a cooler. Two glasses ready and waiting. Taking my elbow, he guides me to the chair, gallantly pushing it in for me as I sit and cross my legs. I lean on my elbow and smile as he pours me as glass of wine. He takes his own glass and slouches arrogantly back in his chair, eyeing me more carefully now. "You truly are lovely," he begins, eyes crinkling. "It's been so long, I had to wonder if my memory had deceived me, but I see that is not the case." His clipped accent somehow lends authority to his voice and I tilt my glass in a salute of the compliment, leaning my arm on the chair to accent my cleavage. He sits up earnestly, putting down his glass and crossing his arms on the table.

"I certainly hope you understand, now, dear, why I had to cut things off as I did. I could not allow what was happening with us to undermine my relationship with Marie. We've been together for ages, absolutely ages, and her family adores me. Once we marry, I'll be incredibly comfortable and I couldn't afford to sacrifice that." Sitting back again, he steeples his fingers and peers at me. "If she hadn't found those emails, things would still be going on between us. But I certainly couldn't risk her leaving, not after all of the time I've invested." He smiles winningly at me. "And you certainly were a little jezebel, weren't you? Why, I'd never thought I'd be lured into an affair before! Imagine, me, being naughty over the internet, then flying across the world just for a toss!" He winks charmingly.

Composed, feeling my heart tightening in my chest in disappointment, I smile back soothingly as I shrug the feeling off. "Oh, Dave, it's all in the past. This is probably the last time I'll ever be alone with you, do we have to rehash all of the old drama?" I lightly drag my fingernail along the inside of his wrist, emphasizing the word 'drama'. His cheeks flush as his flesh erupts in goosebumps at my touch. "I was certainly hoping you'd feel that way, I truly was," he breathes, leaning forward to kiss me over the wine glasses. I take full advantage, slowly bending in and stroking his wrist, nibbling lightly on the tip of his tongue, drawing the kiss out. When it breaks, we are both almost gasping for air, the sexual attraction crackling between us. He traces the shape of my hard nipple through the fabric of my dress and I moan softly.

"I'm running to the loo, sweetheart," he breathes, tracing the shape of my lips and groaning as I take the tip of his forefinger into my mouth, sucking lightly. "I'll poor more wine," I say huskily, standing and kicking off my shoes, reaching for our glasses. When he emerges a few moments later, I raise his glass to him, smiling seductively, licking my tongue along the rim before I pass it to him. He raises it to his lips and does the same, licking the same spot on the rim before draining it's contents, his cock an obvious bulge in his trousers.


He awoke about 2 hours later, startled and disoriented, and I let the newspaper I was scanning fall to the table. I watch as he tries to grab his pounding head before realizing he's tied naked and quite securely to the bed by both arms and legs.

Eyes bleary but rapidly clearing, he sees me sitting in the chair by the window, wrapped in the hotel bathrobe. I stand and smile down at him, dropping my robe as I place my fingers against his lips. His eyes widen as he takes in my leather boots, panties, and merry widow, stifling a moan as he sees my fingers softly stroke the large, thick dildo strapped to my groin, jutting out impressively. When he whimpers in fear, my backhand slap across his face is sudden and unexpected. The crack of it is loud and satisfying in the quiet hotel room, only the soft buzz of the air-conditioner to muffle it.

I lean down close to his ear, my lips almost touching it, smiling as I see the cold beads of fear dotting his forehead. "You fucked me, Dave. Fucked me good. Yes you did. You certainly did, baby," I almost coo, as if to a child. I harshly grab his shriveled genitals in my hand and roughly cup them, pulling upwards.

Whispering, "And now, it's my turn... sweetheart."


John uses the inter-hotel service phone in the hall to call down to Guest Relations. "Yeah, Mr. Vincent? It's John from Room Service. I was delivering to 648 when I heard something really odd coming from 646. Yeah... yeah... Well, a guy screaming, and not in a good way, if you know what I mean. Yeah... Uh huh. Uh huh... Well, it didn't sound like he was having fun to ME, but... Ok. Fine. I'm sorry, Sir. Yes, I will, Sir. Sorry to bother you." He hangs up the phone and listens for a second, the plush hallway now quiet.

Shrugging, he hums to himself as he pushes his room-service trolley back toward the elevator.

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