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  “I’m not much of a talker,” he said. “I know women like you. You want a talker. You think if a guy can drop a couple SAT words it means he’ll know how to make you cum.”

  I was just breathing now—I had no reply.

  “Well don’t worry, I’ll make you cum,” he said. “I promised that guy of yours I would.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Kind of a creep, by the way, you ask me.”

  “But you’re playing,” I pointed out. My voice didn’t come out confident. It came out small.

  “Sure I am; look at you,” he said. “I don’t get to plow a snooty bitch like you very often. You know, carpe diem and all.”

  I swallowed.

  “Come on,” he said, “you don’t need that drink. Let’s go somewhere I can spread you open and dispense with the vocabulary.”

  Spellbound, I climbed down from the stool. I looked around for him… but he had vanished. I wanted reassurance. From another stranger! some last rational part of me exclaimed, shrilly protesting. But as this man put his hand at the small of my back, I felt there was nothing I could do—nothing I wanted to do—but obey.

  It was like surrendering to a movie, except I was the movie.

  We walked like this to the elevators. He pulled a key from his pocket, pressed the button. I stood beside him, clutching my purse, trying not to tremble visibly. The elevator stopped and we climbed in.

  The doors closed and the elevator lurched upward.

  “Try not to look so scared,” he said. “You’ll make me feel like a monster.”

  “Sorry,” I managed, and tried to muster a smile. Just as quickly as it had started, our ascent stopped, and the door slid open. We stepped out into a hallway. He walked ahead of me now. I followed, my mind oddly clear of second thoughts.

  I looked at my feet, placed each toe at the center of the red diamond patterns on the carpet. Step, step, step. Suddenly I became aware that he’d stopped, was standing beside an opened door. He looked at me, eyes narrowed, and ran his tongue over his lower lip like he was about to tuck a napkin in and start a meal.

  “After you,” he said. So I went in.

  He stepped in after me and as the heavy hotel door clunked shut I had the sudden thought that this might be how I would die. I was so stupid. I had walked right into this, and this man would fuck me, and maybe he would fuck me, or maybe neither of them would fuck me at all, they would just cut me into little pieces and hide my body in garbage cans all over downtown. I actually teared up, this image came to me so vividly, so completely, so that when this man stepped to me and pressed his erection against my ass and then reached around to lift my skirt and plunge his ugly hand into my underwear, I gasped, as the tears rolled down my cheek.

  He groaned as his fingers made contact with the slick wet hair at the entrance to my vagina. He buried his other hand in the back of my hair, spreading his fingers apart to cup the curve at the back of my skull.

  “You’re a dirty little whore, aren’t you,” he said, his voice hoarse, his own breath shortened. “It turns you on to have your boyfriend make you screw a dumb fat fuck like me.”

  With that he crooked his fingers to part the lips of my pussy and then slipped his middle and ring fingers back and forth across my clit.

  “Fuck, I haven’t felt a pussy this wet in a goddamned decade,” he said. There was genuine appreciation in his voice. He drew a deep breath, then plunged those two fingers into me, pressing the meaty heel of his palm against my clit as he moved them in and out slowly.

  I whimpered.

  He moved his left hand from the back of my head to my breast, pinched my nipple through my dress. More sounds came from my throat.

  “That’s right, you little slut. That’s what I can do for you and you can’t fucking help yourself, you’re hungry for me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, barely, on an exhale.

  He withdrew his hand and my pussy felt empty, soaking and starving both.

  “Louder.”

  “Yes,” I whined.

  “Good,” he said, and now he brought both hands to the work of unzipping the back of my dress. I heard the sound of the zipper opening down, down, and felt the fabric parting to expose the skin of my back. Then he tugged the dress down from the hem so that it dropped to the floor and I stood in front of him in my underwear. Still facing away from him. My panties so wet that the tops of my thighs were wet where they’d been pressed together.

  He unfastened my bra and slipped it forward, down my arms, and it, too, fell to the ground. My nipples stiffened in the silent, cold air conditioning of the room.

  Then the panties. He took hold of the waistband and tugged them down.

  I waited to see what would happen next. I was glad I was facing away from him. I could just feel things, let my body respond and not have to think about him—who he was, what the hell I was doing.

  He placed his hand at the back of my neck now. “Walk,” he said, and I walked ahead of him to the bed. We stopped at the edge.

  “Kneel on the bed,” he said, “all fours.”

  I knelt. He stroked my ass a few times appreciatively, then got to his own knees behind me, on the floor. He brought his face very close to my throbbing pussy. I felt his hot breath on me and held my own, anticipating the feel of his tongue against the swollen wet entrance to my body.

  But then he stood again, and I heard him unbuckling his belt.

  So quickly it seemed we had arrived at this point! I was desperately aroused, though. I did, I wanted his cock inside me, I didn’t give a damn that he was fat and ugly and hairy and wore too many rings.

  He wasn’t even touching me, and I whimpered again. Wiggled my ass a little in the air, spreading myself wider for him.

  “Nah,” he said, “not so fast. Turn around.”

  I did, still on my knees. His cock was out. Neither large nor small, but shiny and hard, with a big head on it, leaking pre-cum. I knew what was next. I reached for it.

  “No,” he said. “Kiss me.”

  This, it turned out, was what I really didn’t want to do. But I’d been warned not to make him feel bad. Unhappily, I rose up on my knees, so that we were face to face. I looked into his eyes. They were hungry, desperately so—and yet also distant, almost sad. I placed a hand on each of his shoulders, and then—

  “Stop.”

  He was in the room—I hadn’t even seen him. In a chair, in the shadowy corner. I felt too many things then. Relieved at the intervention. Humiliated, that he’d seen me so eager to fuck this disgusting man.

  “No kissing, remember?” He spoke to the man. “We have rules.”

  The man nodded without looking over, and I saw that being checked embarrassed him, made him lose his erection a little. I felt sorry for him.

  Again I dropped to all fours and I found the head of his cock with my tongue and I softly lapped at it. The organ leapt a little, regained some of its hardness.

  I moved my lips over it, took just the head in my mouth, softly. In an instant he was back to rigid. I took him deeper in my mouth, heard him moan.

  For a long moment, there wasn’t a sound in the room except the sticky slurping noises of his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. He kept a hand lightly on my shoulder as I pumped his slippery organ between my lips. I felt my breasts swinging beneath me, bare and untouched. Then, quickly, his breathing changed, and I felt he was getting close. I was gratified to know that I wasn’t the only one strangely turned on by this whole little game.

  I cupped his balls in my hand, and a moment later, with a groan, he came in my mouth. I held him there on my tongue as he whimpered, his orgasm subsiding.

  Then I slowly backed off his cock and swallowed and looked up at him. His face was upturned, eyes squeezed shut.

  “Good,” came his voice from the shadows, “You can go.”

  Hurriedly and without so much as a thank-you the man left. Leaving me on the bed, naked and desperately wet.

  But he didn’t
move.

  So I stood and walked to him. I reached down and flipped the switch for the light on the table beside him. Then stood there, straddling his leg, my pink, swollen lips and the wet mass of my public hair on display in the halo of light. He looked at me—I knew he could smell me. I could smell myself.

  “Look what you did,” I said.

  “Did I?” he asked, amused.

  “You have to help me now,” I said, and I meant it. I’d never in my life been so desperate for a cock plunging into me. It was the only thought in my head.

  “Do I,” he said then, and lifted his eyes from my pussy to my face. He reached a hand up, cupped my breast gently, brushed across the nipple ever so lightly with his thumb. I moaned, deeply now, hungrily.

  “You don’t seem bored anymore,” he said then, teasingly.

  “Please,” I said.

  “No,” he said, “not yet. You don’t want me right now, really—you want anyone. I could send you back down to the lobby and point and I think you’d fuck whatever male specimen was the shortest distance away.”

  He wasn’t quite wrong, but I didn’t want that. I wanted him. “Please,” I repeated.

  “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, but I want you more.”

  “Only because you know me a little. And because you know I can see the way you are.”

  What better reason to want anyone? “Yes,” I murmured

  “But suppose I send you down to the lobby.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You’d feel so much better. You need to be fucked.”

  “Then fuck me. I know you want to. I’ll come so hard for you.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, “I think you will. But not tonight.” He scooted his chair back, stood. “I have to go.”

  “You don’t want to see me come?”

  “I’m giving you the opportunity to come for me with any willing man in this hotel.”

  I was silent. I really didn’t want that. Wasn’t ready—was too wet, too open, too far gone. I wasn’t even sure I could walk any distance.

  “All right, then,” he said, looking at me gently. “You should stay here—spend the night. You don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow, do you?”

  Tomorrow was Saturday. I shook my head. “Do you have to leave?”

  “I’ll leave you instructions,” he said, “and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Tears swam to my eyes again. What had just happened? If I couldn’t be fucked I at least wanted to be held.

  “Oh, no,” he said, “Don’t worry. I promise. Rest here.”

  And with that he walked to the door. “Sleep well,” he said. “You were perfect.”

  “Wait,” I said, but he didn’t.

  And then he was gone, and I still didn’t know his name.

  3.

  After the door closed I went to it and bolted it and then returned to the bed. Still naked, I turned down the comforter and then climbed onto the bed and laid back on the clean white sheets, letting the tears just roll down my cheeks. A sob or two escaped—but I’ve never been good at crying for long on my own.

  I placed my hand between my legs—truly I was astonishingly wet—and even as I touched myself I knew that the orgasm I’d soon have was nothing near the one that would actually take care of this giant hunger.

  You could still go down to the lobby, suggested my brain, but I couldn’t. Just couldn’t. I got up and quickly searched around the room for anything I might place in service to fill my soaking, insatiable cunt, even lingering for awhile over the possibilities of the champagne bottle in the mini-fridge—but that hard glass scared me, and I thought better of it.

  So I returned to the bed and slipped my small fingers over my hard, swollen clit, and pinched my nipples, and then pushed my fingers as deep inside myself as I could, grinding my clit against the hollow of my palm, and in a minute or two I had a quick, hard little orgasm and I felt my insides clamping themselves around my hand, and then, profoundly, enormously unsatisfied, I wiped my sticky fingers on the sheets and rolled over and went to sleep.

  I woke to a knocking on the door and, still naked, quickly went to it and looked out the peephole, hoping it might be him. But it was just a young man from room service, delivering trays.

  Suddenly feeling brazen and unashamed, I opened the door still in the nude and bent to pick my tray up from the floor where he had left it. He glanced back and for a moment we locked eyes, and then I let the door slip shut again. If it had been the night before, maybe I would have tried to entice him in, made him fuck me. It aroused me now to think about it, but not quite enough. Besides, I needed to eat.

  On the tray was a French press coffee and some dainty rolls and fruit. And an envelope, bearing my name. I tried to think how he could have known my name but I’d never learned his. It gave me a chill that quickly turned into a distinctly sick feeling. Was he a stalker? A serial killer? My hands shook as I drove the plunger down in the coffee pot and then tipped it to pour myself a cup.

  I stirred in cream and sugar and waited for my heartbeat to slow before I picked up the envelope and slit it open with the knife.

  Inside there was a note.

  I’m sorry if the name thing startled you, it began,

  I availed myself of your drivers’ license last night while you were otherwise engaged. I hope it wasn’t too much of a violation. So we’re even, here’s mine: Jack Simeon. I do have something of a public profile so I would ask for your discretion as regards our little game.

  Speaking of which, if you’re still playing, enclosed you’ll find my next move. You’ll need your passport, and I imagine you’ll want a change of clothes, so there’s a driver outside to take you home, or anywhere else you might need to go today. It’s just for a night. I’m afraid I have meetings to attend to, so I’ll have to meet you this evening, at the other end.

  If you have questions, here’s my cell number. But in the spirit of the game, I urge you not to call unless there’s anything you absolutely need to know.

  Affectionately,

  Jack.

  Nobody’s name is Jack, I thought then, or is it? On a second page was a sheet of paper with a confirmation code and the name of an airline. Departs 4:35, it said, but it didn’t say where to.

  Nothing else that had ever happened to me in my life had been this exciting, this mysterious and glossy. Think about it, and tell me you’d resist.

  4.

  The car took me home where I attempted to pack for anywhere. Truthfully, I needed to do laundry. But I decided to simply believe we wouldn’t be gone too long. I selected a new dress to wear, and carefully folded another. Packed jeans and a sweater just in case, filled a cosmetic case with the essentials.

  Then I settled on the couch to do my homework.

  I opened my laptop and typed in Jack’s name. He wasn’t kidding about the public profile: he had pages and pages of results. Expert commentaries on oil futures. Op-eds on sugarcane ethanol, or on why such-and-such a fuel cell wasn’t ready for the consumer market. He’d gone to three Ivy League schools and received honorary degrees from the rest. I dug backwards. He attended things. There were shots of him at premieres of this and galas for that. The recent ones showed an assortment of women on his arm, but then I traveled farther back in time and there was only one woman, the same woman: a sleek, serious-looking brunette who always smiled as if she wished the photo weren’t being taken. Finally I found her name, Rebekah, in the wedding announcement from nearly 15 years before. They sounded like insufferable up-and-comers. She ran an art gallery. He was a researcher turned trader turned consultant for BP. But then she disappeared from the record. Her gallery had since closed, I discovered, but I couldn’t seem to learn anything more.

  However, he was who he was, and in that I found comfort.

  I went for a run, showered, changed, and was at the airport in plenty of time for my flight, which it turned out was not to Paris or Istanbul but to Edmonton, Alberta—which, I supposed, made infinit
ely more sense for a single-evening engagement.

  Except, like an idiot, I hadn’t thought to pack a coat. I considered calling—it was obvious Jack had money to burn, and I was sure he’d readily let me charge something to him at the duty-free. But that seemed crass. I’d never been a woman who expected spoiling, and while I didn’t mind learning he was rich, I hated giving the impression I might try to take his generosity for granted. Besides, it was unlikely we’d be spending time outside, and it wasn’t like we were leaving civilization forever. I could hop from hotel to cab to restaurant sans outerwear, clearly. So I settled in at my gate and kept my mouth shut.