Mr. Man - Sex Stories

Mr. Man

I walked in through the revolving door into the vast lobby. The outside of the building - and surely the neighborhood - didn't give any idea that this was going to be such a big hotel. I was impressed. Comforted, even. Surely nothing shady could go down in such a classy place, right? This self-contrived bout of confidence carried me briskly to the elevator, where I pressed the '18' button, which happened to be the highest number on the menu. Wow, was I going to a penthouse? No, I wasn't going anywhere. The light would not light up and the ding would simply not ding. I had to make a confused walk over to the front counter - something I had very much wanted to avoid - to ask for help. Naturally, I chose the thin pretty brunette. “Welcome to the Royal Plaza. My name is Rachel, how can I help you today?” “Oh, um, the elevator won't...the button doesn't call the...elevator.” “I'm sorry for that, Sir. Which room are you staying in?” “Oh, I'm not staying here. I'm just visiting.” “That's no problem. What is the name of the guest you'll be visiting?” I didn't know. We hadn't exchanged names. He just told me to go to the 18th floor and he'd be the last door on the right. I was starting to sweat. “I'm...not sure.” Rachel looked confused, but hid it professionally under her 5-star guest service smile. “All right, Sir, well if you don't have a name, I'm afraid I cannot let you on the elevators. “It's the 18th floor. Does that help?” A look of understanding came over Rachel's face, like ...

... it was all falling into place, but she hadn't expected it to do so so suddenly. “The 18th floor? Are you going up to the penthouse?” “I guess. I'm sorry, I can go...” The silence hung there for a second. She didn't try to stop me, and I didn't try to make a case for myself. In slow motion, I turned and walked the other direction, half relieved that I was being spared the rest of this horribly awkward journey, half disheveled that I'd look like a flake. I shuffled slowly towards the door, this jittery cocktail of surface level emotions. I don't know why I did it, but I turned back to look at Rachel, just to get a last look at what she must think of this whole ordeal. But to my surprise, her eyes were already on me, a desk phone to her ear. Whatever was on that other end seemed to be placing the elements of the equation into a logical order, and Rachel's face morphed into a Neapolitan of embarrassment, acceptance and that good ol' familiar 5-star guest service smile. For whatever reason, I took this as a sign to approach the desk once again. Without my conscious approval, I was striding back to the desk to await news of the turn of events. “...thank you...thank you...yes, Mr. Man. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and raised her eyes to me. “Mr. Man has approved your visit. Will you please come this way?” She waved a hand toward the elevator and headed off, motioning for me to follow, which I did. She waved a key in front of the sensors, and with a pleasant ding, the door opened ...