Sunday, June 18, 2006
Hotel Atrium Views (part 1)
She came out of the elevator
lugging a suitcase,
with a briefcase
and a laptop slung
somewhat precariously
over her shoulder.
Her business-like silk dress
and her demeanor narrowed
her professional options significantly.
The tired dignity with which
she carried herself spoke volumes
about her ability and her strength.
This was not young administrative assistant,
but someone who made things happen.
Although clearly fatigued,
she also reeked of nervous energy
and her alert eyes were not aimed
at the floor as she walked,
but casually glancing all around her:
observant, aware.
And then she stopped.
About three doors down
the balcony she stopped and glanced,
then peered into one of the room windows.
I couldn't see into that window
from my position
but I didn't need to,
her eyes, her body
and soon enough,
even more told me
most of what I needed to know.
Some people communicate volumes
through their eyes.
Some people,
when they come upon others
in a sexual situation,
avert their eyes,
look embarrassed,
or, if they're men,
suddenly take on the look of horny dogs.
This woman was almost mesmerized.
Her nervous energy
suddenly had an object
and the pure lust in her eyes gave little doubt
that she had seen people doing something
very nasty in that room.
Without taking her eyes
from the object of her desire,
she slowly lowered the suitcase to the floor.
The fatigue that had been apparent
seconds before had been replaced by alert,
rapt attention.
Her arms and face were becoming flushed
and her fingertips,
and then her hands
began to touch her thighs.
She absent-mindedly bit one lip
and then parted them.
She licked her lips
and reached with one hand
to play with her hair
while another began
to slowly caress her stomach
and then, her cunt through her dress.
This went on for minutes
and it was my turn to be mesmerized.
This woman's ability
to be sucked into the delight,
the gift of the moment was a catharsis for me.
To give in to lust, to love,
she had what I felt had lost.
Then, for a moment, it was broken.
A look of embarrassment
spread across her face.
Not horror,
this was clearly a woman
comfortable with her sexuality.
Likely they had noticed her
and her brain was processing the message,
"Yes, but you are also
a respected businesswoman
and you know damn well
you can't let your guard down publicly.
Who else among the scores of rooms
facing this atrium is watching you?"
She picked up her bag
and moved down the balcony toward her room...
and then, looking forward,
she noticed me at the curtain.
A series of messages flashed across her face:
"Oh, shit,
EVERYBODY's seen me
with my hand on my mound."
"A guy, great,
just the right message,
you self-indulgent pervert."
But then after she'd looked
into my eyes for a few seconds,
she relaxed, a bit,
although she still quickly stumbled
and fumbled to her door,
fumbled with the keys,
dropped them,
scooped them up after two tries,
finally got the door open
and slid inside just before
her fears caught up with her.
I remained at the window,
feeling an enormous sense
of arousal and relief.
Arousal, evidenced by
a rockhard erection
sending "Me Tarzan, Her Jane"
messages to my brain,
and relief because this woman
had suddenly brought me back into the world.
The feeling, risk-taking, joyful,
red-faced-and-proud-of-it world
that I had spent most of my life in.
And then she was at her window.
Again the look of caution,
mixed with lust,
with a veneer of fatigue.
But there she was.
She looked at me,
from my eyes to my cock,
tenting my robe.
Our eyes met, I questioned.
She held up her hand and slowly,
ever so slowly, began undressing.
First, her green silk blouse,
then her shoes and skirt.
Then, and this really affected me,
she undid her braid and
released her hair,
a metaphor for the moment.
She began to move, to undulate,
hands moving over her body
and onto her bra and her breasts.
The front snap was undone,
and there were her beautiful breasts.
She looked directly at me
and watched as my fingertips
slid over my cock.
She hooked her thumbs
into the waistband
of her panties and
slid them down.
lugging a suitcase,
with a briefcase
and a laptop slung
somewhat precariously
over her shoulder.
Her business-like silk dress
and her demeanor narrowed
her professional options significantly.
The tired dignity with which
she carried herself spoke volumes
about her ability and her strength.
This was not young administrative assistant,
but someone who made things happen.
Although clearly fatigued,
she also reeked of nervous energy
and her alert eyes were not aimed
at the floor as she walked,
but casually glancing all around her:
observant, aware.
And then she stopped.
About three doors down
the balcony she stopped and glanced,
then peered into one of the room windows.
I couldn't see into that window
from my position
but I didn't need to,
her eyes, her body
and soon enough,
even more told me
most of what I needed to know.
Some people communicate volumes
through their eyes.
Some people,
when they come upon others
in a sexual situation,
avert their eyes,
look embarrassed,
or, if they're men,
suddenly take on the look of horny dogs.
This woman was almost mesmerized.
Her nervous energy
suddenly had an object
and the pure lust in her eyes gave little doubt
that she had seen people doing something
very nasty in that room.
Without taking her eyes
from the object of her desire,
she slowly lowered the suitcase to the floor.
The fatigue that had been apparent
seconds before had been replaced by alert,
rapt attention.
Her arms and face were becoming flushed
and her fingertips,
and then her hands
began to touch her thighs.
She absent-mindedly bit one lip
and then parted them.
She licked her lips
and reached with one hand
to play with her hair
while another began
to slowly caress her stomach
and then, her cunt through her dress.
This went on for minutes
and it was my turn to be mesmerized.
This woman's ability
to be sucked into the delight,
the gift of the moment was a catharsis for me.
To give in to lust, to love,
she had what I felt had lost.
Then, for a moment, it was broken.
A look of embarrassment
spread across her face.
Not horror,
this was clearly a woman
comfortable with her sexuality.
Likely they had noticed her
and her brain was processing the message,
"Yes, but you are also
a respected businesswoman
and you know damn well
you can't let your guard down publicly.
Who else among the scores of rooms
facing this atrium is watching you?"
She picked up her bag
and moved down the balcony toward her room...
and then, looking forward,
she noticed me at the curtain.
A series of messages flashed across her face:
"Oh, shit,
EVERYBODY's seen me
with my hand on my mound."
"A guy, great,
just the right message,
you self-indulgent pervert."
But then after she'd looked
into my eyes for a few seconds,
she relaxed, a bit,
although she still quickly stumbled
and fumbled to her door,
fumbled with the keys,
dropped them,
scooped them up after two tries,
finally got the door open
and slid inside just before
her fears caught up with her.
I remained at the window,
feeling an enormous sense
of arousal and relief.
Arousal, evidenced by
a rockhard erection
sending "Me Tarzan, Her Jane"
messages to my brain,
and relief because this woman
had suddenly brought me back into the world.
The feeling, risk-taking, joyful,
red-faced-and-proud-of-it world
that I had spent most of my life in.
And then she was at her window.
Again the look of caution,
mixed with lust,
with a veneer of fatigue.
But there she was.
She looked at me,
from my eyes to my cock,
tenting my robe.
Our eyes met, I questioned.
She held up her hand and slowly,
ever so slowly, began undressing.
First, her green silk blouse,
then her shoes and skirt.
Then, and this really affected me,
she undid her braid and
released her hair,
a metaphor for the moment.
She began to move, to undulate,
hands moving over her body
and onto her bra and her breasts.
The front snap was undone,
and there were her beautiful breasts.
She looked directly at me
and watched as my fingertips
slid over my cock.
She hooked her thumbs
into the waistband
of her panties and
slid them down.
