Erotic Meeting

“Isn’t it love that keeps us breathing?  Isn’t it love we’re sent here for?”

Many of us pass our lives day to day, waking, dressing, washing, commuting, working, eating, sleeping, occasionally making love or having sex, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing, but all too often experienced as a routine. We often lose sight of the idea of each day being a gift and of seemingly random events as having greater meaning. We take too much for granted.

In my work, seeing larger meaning, or even hope, is often very difficult. For thirty years I’ve worked in the government of a large eastern city. First as an idealistic young program manager, then as a cop, and then after I’d taken a bullet which stopped my “let’s-just-chase-the-perp-over-that-20-foot-fence” days, as an operative for the city’s Investigation Department. We look out for corruption and for people trying to rip off the city with scams.

Enforcement work of any kind can disillusion you pretty nicely, thank you, and make you forget the beauty and kindness around you. You spend your time in a paranoid state of mind, looking for people who lie without thinking about it, get caught, and keep on lying until we eventually put them away. You can easily forget about the magic of those seemingly random pauses of unplanned joy in your life. When you get to that point, you’re in big trouble. Burned out. Suicidal. Depressed.

That’s how cops die or slide into a bottle. That’s where I was until one of those chance intersections of lives pulled me out; one of those pitches life throws at you that you can decide to turn away from, or allow it to change you forever.

A loss of that perspective, a loss of my ability to remember the magic in life and the accumulated weight of too many arrows and too much caring about them had led me to that hotel room in Seattle. I hadn’t felt this bad in years and while I was in town to deliver a paper at a conference and had been well received, I didn’t make much of a difference. I was at the point where I was counting days ’till retirement, a practice I’d always abhorred among public servants.

That night I had showered, downed a vodka and tonic and was looking out the curtains of my room across the hotel’s atrium. Years ago I would have looked out of that atrium and felt the hum of life: laughter, debate, pain, lust, love, joy and confusion, but in some kind of context that ended with my continuing to see the general pleasure in existence. Now I was trying desperately to connect to the lives all around me, their meaning and spark.

She came out of the elevator lugging a suitcase, with a briefcase and a laptop slung somewhat precariously over her shoulder. Even from fifty feet away I could tell the Logan airport tags on her luggage. 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. There was no wedding band. (Years before a woman friend asked me what I first noticed about a woman I just met. She may have been expecting “breasts” or “body” but I replied, “The first thing I notice is her eyes and her smile. Then my eyes immediately drop down… to her left hand to see if she’s married.” “Proof positive that you’re over thirty,” she laughed.)

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. These people always make wonderful friends and lovers but incredibly lousy liars and salespeople.

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 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 mental Godzilla caught up with her.

I remained at the window, feeling an enormous sense of arousal and relief. Arousal, evidenced by a rock-hard 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, crimson-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 long blond hair, a metaphor for the moment.

She began to move, to undulate, hands moving over her body temple 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.

Almost immediately her hand went to her mound and she began fingering herself. Just as quickly she gave a shudder – things had apparently been building up for quite a while today waiting for this release. She looked directly at my hand pumping my cock, which challenged my normally dependable self control. Then she did two things which set the stage for me. She used a hand to pull apart her labia and she raised one leg up onto the window sill, exposing herself fully.

I fastened my eyes upon hers and began concentrating on one thought as her fingers played across her pink flesh as my hand stroked my own. I am in front of her on my knees, licking and sucking and fingering that wet cunt, massaging her anus and tonguing her clit until she has to come all over my face.

I stared at her continuously, hoping that thought would carry across the silence of glass barriers and walls as she became more aroused. But she also had a message for me. Her eyes had a look that I’ve seen before. The “If-I-really-want-to-finish-you-off-you-don’t stand- a-chance” look. And she was right. It wasn’t just the beautiful woman dancing with me in the night. It was the moment. Whether you think of it as religious, or fate or life tapping you on the shoulder and reminding you, “Remember this? This was part of it, too. Now don’t forget, fool.”

When she began making suggestive movements with her lips as I played with my balls I felt pushed, or pulled over the edge. My body momentarily turned into a cock, my back arched, my abdomen tightened and I spurted across the divide onto the window in front of me.

As I continued to shake with aftershocks I watched as she went into high gear, the hand over her clit almost a blur and her pelvis fucking the air as I wished it was grinding against my face. Her head snapped back and she came, juices visible on her hand and then her body pushed forward to mash her wet juicy cunt against the window. I could hear grunts that even the double pane windows could not keep in.

Then she vanished from immediate view into the arms of a chair, the bed, or the floor, I couldn’t tell which.

I went to the phone, my need for personal contact as great as the need for release had been just a few moments before. I had no interest in this wonderful woman turning into any pizza, and I hoped she felt the same. But I didn’t want her to feel trapped either.

She answered and I just went on, “My name is Charlie and I just wanted to thank you. Not just for the sex, but you just pulled me out of the abyss and back into the world. I just wish it had been my tongue on your pussy just now. Call if you need or want anything, or don’t if you’re done.”

I hung up before she could say anything and immediately wondered and feared that, as usual, I had just made a jerk of myself. Couldn’t I just disappear when it was clear that was appropriate?

My obligatory guilt was interrupted by a soft tapping, and then a catlike scratching at the door. “C’mon, it was bad enough before when I was clothed! I don’t want this particular world to see me buck naked with my juices dripping down my leg!”

I open the door and she was in my arms, the door was closed behind us and she was saying, “Shut up and kiss me.” I did.

We moved over to the bed, she fell onto her back and I moved on top her. Kissing her, nibbling and sucking on her lips, then her neck and down to her breasts. I licked and sucked on her nipples – hard for much of the last hour and now rising again with the mounded areolae beneath them. My hand slid down to a very wet thatch of pubic hair.

I moved my fingers gently among her folds, not knowing how sensitive she might be after the strumming her clit had received not so many minutes before. I licked and kissed my way down her taut stomach to a very sexy navel and further to the heady smell of musk. I took one long slow lick, wide tongued over her cunt, looked up at her and asked, “What did you see? What were they doing?”

She replied, “Shut up and lick me.” I did.

Her hips began to move against me immediately, her hand reached down to grab my head. I slid a finger inside to see if I can could find a spot that… yep, that’s it all right. I buried my face in her and shook my head violently side to side. She arched her back and whimpered, but didn’t quite lose control.

I stopped, raised my head and asked again. “Not fair!” she protested. I returned to her cunt, but only traced fines lines with the tip of my tongue and resisted her attempts to raise herself up into my mouth.

“Ok,” she moaned resigned to the interruption, “he was fucking her from behind while they were watching a sex video and then… Unh!” as my tongue slid back over her clit and into her cunt, joining my finger in painting lewd pictures on the walls of her vagina. I didn’t stop at all this time, remembering what had set her off last time, and did it over and over until I heard the most wonderful, “Oh shit,” and I was subjected to a sweet smothering.

After she calmed down I wiped my wet face on the insides of her thighs, stood, took her hands and lifted her up and over to the chair. She knew just what I intended and without instruction she sprawled herself over the plush chair and raised her ass and cunt in an invitation that is a million years old. I took my cock, placed it against her puffy lips and made the smooth wet entry I expected. Her cunt was like a very wet, very warm, very nasty mouth that pushed back against me and swallowed me all in one gulp.

I began slowly, wanting to savor the feeling and the union of lust and people. She worked a hand down between her legs to rub her clit but her urgency made a decision for both of us. Soon there were the sounds of our moans and the needs of two people sharing a warm time in a cold world. And the soft slurping sounds of my cock sliding in and out of her and the harder sound of my stomach and thighs slapping against her ass as we fought our way to ecstasy.

She made wonderful sounds that brought joy to my heart and desperation to my balls. When she began to come she twisted around so I could see her face and as she went, I saw her mouth the words, “Empty your balls into me, baby.” And that was much too much for me to ever resist, even if she’d been doing it to me for ten years.

We slid onto the floor and held each other close. She’d come for relief and had found more than that. I’d come drowning and found myself back on the beach, rescued.


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