We agreed it would stay platonic; two very smart, very articulate people who this many decades old don't necessarily need to succumb to their desires. Or we said. Too many complications, too many questions, it would be unfair and unhealthy - all of which seemed logical and reasonable several weeks ago.
In person is a different matter, however.
The idea of meeting in person was strictly for convenience and to cement the platonic armistice between us; job interviews for you in a city that isn't too far from home and I'm giving a talk at a painfully boring scientific conference in the same city. The hotel has two adjoining bedrooms and plenty of space, more than enough for us both. A shared bathroom presents a minor challenge, but I take practically no time and you'll have the place to yourself while I'm away the first night at an obligatory reception for conference speakers.
The meeting between us is extremely awkward. I'm nothing like you remembered, aside from the glasses and the inability to hold eye contact for long periods of time without getting anxious. It's brief, you're arriving just as I'm leaving for the reception and travel has left you a little frazzled, but room service is paid for and solitude might be a nice change of pace. We'll have late night snacks and conversation when I'm back, I promise, then I'm gone before the force of your physical presence can register fully.
The door clatters closed behind me and my carefully-pressed suit and you stare at it for a moment, trying to reconcile the physical me with the virtual one you've come to know. Then you shrug and breathe deeply before heading to the oversized bathroom for a long, luxurious shower. Maybe a bath? No, a shower to wash off the ick of travel.
I come back into the suite, cursing to myself in a restrained way, just as you are stepping in and closing the glass doors of the weird, euro-style shower behind you. You're enjoying the bathroom sound system, pulling up a playlist of songs we've talked about. After a second of wrestling with the controls and then finally getting the damn thing on, the shower itself begins and you are well on your way to relaxing. Almost.
I've left my wallet in the bathroom somewhere, but the moment I open the door, I realize you're already in there. I freeze like a deer in headlights at the shape of you behind the steamed up glass, hoping and praying you cannot see me. I'll just find the wallet and leave, I say, a zephyr, a noiseless ghost...
The door of the shower slides back and inch and a perfect green eye peers you. You contemplate me in my suit and tie, a look of abject misery and unbearable desire on my face.
"Can you help me wash my back?" you ask, holding out a washcloth. There's nothing at all innocent about that smile. I'm helpless.
Sure, I say, casually. Taking the washcloth like it's the most natural thing in the world, I reach through into the heat of the shower, keeping my eyes resolutely fixed on the skin, beaded with water and the damp tendrils of hair. I scrub, dutifully, unable to believe this is happening.
"You're getting water all over the floor," you point out. "You'd better get it here with me."
My suit is removed in record time, discarded, and I am in, carefully closing the door behind me. I turn carefully, working hard not to touch you anywhere I shouldn't. Terrified of doing something wrong, I scrub again, until you turn to face me.
You're a few inches taller than me, not excessively so, but enough that I have to look up just slightly. I blink water out of my eyes, trying to figure out what I ought to do, but nothing in my training has prepared me for this. The deadlock breaks when your lips are pressed against mine, your tongue is in my mouth, and I surrender. Completely and absolutely, I surrender.
That kiss lasts a small eternity. The water from the shower mingles with our mouths, hands embrace, pull, cling. The feel of your body against mine is pure electricity. It goes on and on, nibbling, deepening, engaging. Two hearts racing and beating like thunder press closer. When the kiss finally breaks, a millennium later, I whisper in your ear. I tell you there is something I really, really, really need to do now. Your overdue birthday present. May I? Please?
Your response is a firm yes, not articulate words, but unmistakable. My mouth obeys, kissing your neck, your chest, your breasts - devouring them, worshiping them - the soft, firm curves of your belly, your hips. Then I'm on my knees below you, tracing a long, lazy spiral that centers on your unbearably perfect pussy.
Neural pathways in my brain fuse from the heat, but I keep going, slowly and tortuously past it, brushing it lightly. Down one thigh then back up, past it again, breathing lightly brushing it with a flickering tongue, then down the other thigh with soft bites. The arc reserves and the spiral narrows, focusing.
My mouth is on you now, kissing nibbling those lips, and if I strain my eyes, I can see you bracing yourself against the shower wall, one hand on the back of my head, standing over me with water streaming down. The spiral of my tongue starts, at last to touch your clit very lightly, and the sound that escapes you is pure ecstacy. Low, almost inaudible, it drives me on, but I hold back still. Not until your hand on my head presses me, urging me on do I bring the spiral to a singular point. My tongue swirls in eternal circles there, my lips exert the gentlest suction, and I am exactly where I had dreamed of being.
I would stay there forever, if I could. My hands rise up, one questing hand finds the wetness of you, a heat that exceeds the shower, the other finds your hand, now on the side of my head, twitching slightly. You fingers curl around mine as your breathing quickens, your grip tightening.
Closer and closer, the orgasms build up, my mouth and tongue never slowing.
The water streaming from your body fills my nostrils, my mouth, but I don't stop. I could drown that way and die happy. Fortunately, you save my life by cumming, hard, riding my tongue for a while. You convulse on my fingers, once, twice, and then I lose count. By the time I am pulled up by a shaking hand, my knees are numb and my tongue is unsure how to do anything but move in one pleasurable circle, but you put it to work kissing you again.
When our second kiss finally breaks, I manage to find the door and slip out. Grab a towel. Leave the bathroom, rumpled wet suit in one hand, towel strategically held in the other. Shaking like a leaf, unable to comprehend what just took place, my thoughts are interrupted when the bathroom door opens again...
In person is a different matter, however.
The idea of meeting in person was strictly for convenience and to cement the platonic armistice between us; job interviews for you in a city that isn't too far from home and I'm giving a talk at a painfully boring scientific conference in the same city. The hotel has two adjoining bedrooms and plenty of space, more than enough for us both. A shared bathroom presents a minor challenge, but I take practically no time and you'll have the place to yourself while I'm away the first night at an obligatory reception for conference speakers.
The meeting between us is extremely awkward. I'm nothing like you remembered, aside from the glasses and the inability to hold eye contact for long periods of time without getting anxious. It's brief, you're arriving just as I'm leaving for the reception and travel has left you a little frazzled, but room service is paid for and solitude might be a nice change of pace. We'll have late night snacks and conversation when I'm back, I promise, then I'm gone before the force of your physical presence can register fully.
The door clatters closed behind me and my carefully-pressed suit and you stare at it for a moment, trying to reconcile the physical me with the virtual one you've come to know. Then you shrug and breathe deeply before heading to the oversized bathroom for a long, luxurious shower. Maybe a bath? No, a shower to wash off the ick of travel.
I come back into the suite, cursing to myself in a restrained way, just as you are stepping in and closing the glass doors of the weird, euro-style shower behind you. You're enjoying the bathroom sound system, pulling up a playlist of songs we've talked about. After a second of wrestling with the controls and then finally getting the damn thing on, the shower itself begins and you are well on your way to relaxing. Almost.
I've left my wallet in the bathroom somewhere, but the moment I open the door, I realize you're already in there. I freeze like a deer in headlights at the shape of you behind the steamed up glass, hoping and praying you cannot see me. I'll just find the wallet and leave, I say, a zephyr, a noiseless ghost...
The door of the shower slides back and inch and a perfect green eye peers you. You contemplate me in my suit and tie, a look of abject misery and unbearable desire on my face.
"Can you help me wash my back?" you ask, holding out a washcloth. There's nothing at all innocent about that smile. I'm helpless.
Sure, I say, casually. Taking the washcloth like it's the most natural thing in the world, I reach through into the heat of the shower, keeping my eyes resolutely fixed on the skin, beaded with water and the damp tendrils of hair. I scrub, dutifully, unable to believe this is happening.
"You're getting water all over the floor," you point out. "You'd better get it here with me."
My suit is removed in record time, discarded, and I am in, carefully closing the door behind me. I turn carefully, working hard not to touch you anywhere I shouldn't. Terrified of doing something wrong, I scrub again, until you turn to face me.
You're a few inches taller than me, not excessively so, but enough that I have to look up just slightly. I blink water out of my eyes, trying to figure out what I ought to do, but nothing in my training has prepared me for this. The deadlock breaks when your lips are pressed against mine, your tongue is in my mouth, and I surrender. Completely and absolutely, I surrender.
That kiss lasts a small eternity. The water from the shower mingles with our mouths, hands embrace, pull, cling. The feel of your body against mine is pure electricity. It goes on and on, nibbling, deepening, engaging. Two hearts racing and beating like thunder press closer. When the kiss finally breaks, a millennium later, I whisper in your ear. I tell you there is something I really, really, really need to do now. Your overdue birthday present. May I? Please?
Your response is a firm yes, not articulate words, but unmistakable. My mouth obeys, kissing your neck, your chest, your breasts - devouring them, worshiping them - the soft, firm curves of your belly, your hips. Then I'm on my knees below you, tracing a long, lazy spiral that centers on your unbearably perfect pussy.
Neural pathways in my brain fuse from the heat, but I keep going, slowly and tortuously past it, brushing it lightly. Down one thigh then back up, past it again, breathing lightly brushing it with a flickering tongue, then down the other thigh with soft bites. The arc reserves and the spiral narrows, focusing.
My mouth is on you now, kissing nibbling those lips, and if I strain my eyes, I can see you bracing yourself against the shower wall, one hand on the back of my head, standing over me with water streaming down. The spiral of my tongue starts, at last to touch your clit very lightly, and the sound that escapes you is pure ecstacy. Low, almost inaudible, it drives me on, but I hold back still. Not until your hand on my head presses me, urging me on do I bring the spiral to a singular point. My tongue swirls in eternal circles there, my lips exert the gentlest suction, and I am exactly where I had dreamed of being.
I would stay there forever, if I could. My hands rise up, one questing hand finds the wetness of you, a heat that exceeds the shower, the other finds your hand, now on the side of my head, twitching slightly. You fingers curl around mine as your breathing quickens, your grip tightening.
Closer and closer, the orgasms build up, my mouth and tongue never slowing.
The water streaming from your body fills my nostrils, my mouth, but I don't stop. I could drown that way and die happy. Fortunately, you save my life by cumming, hard, riding my tongue for a while. You convulse on my fingers, once, twice, and then I lose count. By the time I am pulled up by a shaking hand, my knees are numb and my tongue is unsure how to do anything but move in one pleasurable circle, but you put it to work kissing you again.
When our second kiss finally breaks, I manage to find the door and slip out. Grab a towel. Leave the bathroom, rumpled wet suit in one hand, towel strategically held in the other. Shaking like a leaf, unable to comprehend what just took place, my thoughts are interrupted when the bathroom door opens again...