Hotel (part 1.)

It had been quite a few years since I’d last had a sexual encounter and in that time my clock had ticked over from late 50’s to 60 something. I qualified now for a “Seniors Card”, with a range of accompanying benefits. However none of the benefits included the entitlement (or the opportunity) to let my sexual appetite roam freely out of the cage it had been in while I took on the role of full time carer for over 3 years. While my toy collection was growing exponentially, the contact of skin on skin that I craved was markedly absent.

I mulled over the problem with a friend, mentioning my wariness of emotional, financial and caring entanglements, my caution around on-line dating or hook ups. Hesitantly I mentioned my thoughts around hiring a male escort. I figured that such a move took care of my previously mentioned concerns while placing me (literally) in the hands of a professional.

Less than 24 hours later I sent my friend a text message with the URL of a website included. She shot me back a reply: “I’m coming over.” Together we pored over the info and I talked through the process I’d taken to arrive at this choice. I knew I didn’t want a young stud, with rippling muscles and a chiselled profile. “Too intimidating, ” I said indicating my lived in body with a wave of my hand.”I want someone closer to my age. Someone who has a mind, as well as a body. Someone who won’t make me feel old or fat or ugly.” Looking over the website I had chosen we both agreed that John Oh matched the requirements. “A pity he’s in Sydney, but it’s a good excuse to go up there for a few days, maybe check out the gallery, enjoy the sunshine…” “Mmm,” she  said, following a drop down menu. “He does tours. In fact, he’s in Melbourne this weekend.” “He’s fully booked,” I said. “But I may as well sound him out about his availability in Sydney around my birthday.”

When I was alone again, I tentatively sent an email, mentioning dates and how I wished I’d been able to meet him in Melbourne, just to say hello. The reply was satisfyingly swift, and he indicated that he’d have time for lunch on Saturday if I was so inclined. I hadn’t felt this giddy since I dated in high school. With two days to go, I booked in for a hair cut, and went shopping for clothing. ‘Indigo’ had recently been born and the outfit I chose was in my preferred colours, more suited to the warmer northern temperatures, but layered over to accommodate the chilliness of the early Melbourne winter.

However, that night I found another text in my inbox. John apologised for the inconvenience, but a friend was in a bad way, he was cancelling the Melbourne tour. Liking his compassion but a tad disappointed, I sent off a message of understanding and support, and texted my friend the news…

 

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About six weeks later, having managed the complexities of having STD tests done,  arranging for pet care for my animals, getting away from work promptly, catching public transport and then negotiating the intricacies of an airport on high terrorism alert, I arrived in Sydney on an evening warm with the perfume of  invisible jasmine. From the outside the hotel I had chosen for its historic charm and proximity to the harbour, was as interesting as the website promised. Despite the jarring note introduced by vivid liquorice striped carpets in the corridors, the room, though relatively small seemed clean and functional.

I slept well that night; my abstinence from coffee for the past week seemed to be helping my insomnia, as well as hopefully sweetening the taste of my recently waxed pussy. Although I had, someone anxiously, brought a vibrator in my luggage, I resisted the temptation to use it, choosing to spend one more day of abstinence to heighten my enjoyment the next day.

The following morning I was out and about early, shopping for ‘necessities’, before returning to the room to prepare both it and myself, and take some photos as keepsakes. In the next street I found a florist selling bunches of jasmine, roses to dismember and strew on the bed, and some flowers for my companion to show my appreciation of his anticipated services.

All very vanilla, but it was what I felt I needed just then. If, as I suspected, this might be my last ever sexual encounter then I wanted it to fulfill some romantic fantasies that I’d harbored unvoiced for years, and to hopefully negate some of the ugliness which attended the breakup of my last relationship. While the idea of having sex with a stranger was a powerful aphrodisiac, I was very emotionally fragile, and in some strange ways an innocent Persephone for all my past sexual history. I simply wanted to lay on those damn rose petals, be touched and pleasured orally without feeling dirty or inadequate and then engage in some extended driving penetration. Then I wanted a cuddle, some pleasant conversation and the opportunity to spend time alone to hold those few hours close in my mind. In short I was aiming for an encounter I would remember mentally, emotionally and physically in days to come, along with the reassurance that my pussy was still in working order. Twelve hours out from my 64th birthday, I didn’t want feel like a “Senior”, a former carer, a dishonoured partner, an invisible old lady, or a dirty old slut. I just wanted to feel like a sensual human being, worthy of touch, attention and intimacy in the mind of another human being. Even if I had to pay for it.

Fast forward three hours… “He’s walking up the street. Talk to later…” I texted and waved cautiously at the man approaching hesitantly up the street, motorcycle helmet in hand.  Over lunch we exchanged pleasantries, offering and responding to conversational gambits as strangers do. Mention of my blog brought about a shift in interest and we both relaxed a little, finding common ground. Then time was starting to slip away, so I paid for lunch and we walked together back to the hotel…

 

WANT MORE? DELAYED GRATIFICATION CAN BE VERY STIMULATING…

But you can  now find the sequel to this story here...

2 thoughts on “Hotel (part 1.)

  1. Historic hotel? Oh yes! I’m sure Sydney has some that would put the smaller town venues I’ve frequented to shame. I actually envy your adventure, having never indulged myself in even a one night stand, let alone time with a sex professional. I love the tease too, and will be waiting breathlessly (and not because of asthma) for more!

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    • Sydney is beautiful, but I don’t get up there much unfortunately. John is a lovely bloke, and a very strong advocate for disability rights. He provides the “boyfriend experience” which is what I needed at the time. Although I have had one other one night stand when I was a student and I was most definitely sober this time, so it was an interesting test of nerves. I’m glad you liked the tease, I almost left the story there, but I thought that would be a bit unsporting. Not sure when I’ll write it, at the moment I feel like I’m dog paddling pretty hard to keep up with Smutober and the other memes I like to participate in, plus work on my to do list.
      Funnily enough when I read about your hotel, I could see you kicking back there in a jacket and waistcoat, cigar in hand and a bourbon, either before or after your kinky fuckery (God I love that term!). I’m probably type casting you now. But from what I read the cigar would certainly suit the decor…
      Indie

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