A New York Fuck - Sex Stories

A New York Fuck

... from many of the walls. The chairs and couches were deep red leather. Groups of guests spoke in discreet tones, and waiters moved silently and attentively among them. Again, I wondered about the cost, then told myself I was worth it.

I gave my name at the desk. No, a credit card would not be necessary. Apparently Mr Jones was a regular. I got the distinct impression that the guest service agent was accustomed to accommodating his female visitors as well. Not that this bothered me, I'd dated my fair share of guys, and I wasn't looking for a long-term thing.

The agent asked if I needed help with my bag and I demurred, departing with my room key and directions. I shared the elevator with two women, older than me, wearing short dresses, and with heavy make-up. My assumption was that they had a professional engagement to get to. Me? I was giving it away for free.

The room was sumptuous. I'd checked them out on-line in advance of course. Mine was Bohemian. Purple and deep reds. Crushed satin. Two modern chandeliers hung low. The bed was massive, the bathroom even larger. And it had a balcony overlooking the park far below. I had time to kill. He wasn't a native New Yorker, just here for a business trip that conveniently spanned a long weekend. His flight from Charlotte wouldn't land for two hours and then he had to get here.

It was Spring Break. A time when many of my friends were taking vacations, or visiting their folks. I had other activities planned. The forecast ...

... had been correct and the City was unseasonably warm, my phone said sixty-five. Leaning over the balcony railing, the shadows cast by trees far below convinced me how best to spend my waiting time.

Sitting on a park bench, the sun was warming. Still sweater weather, but with the promise of nicer days ahead. I was glad I had brought my sunglasses. I'd attempted to read, not my own stuff, but a first novel by a Trinidadian author. It was beautifully written, but I found the local dialog hard to follow, especially with other things on my mind. I closed my iPad cover and then my eyes, letting the bright rays kiss my upturned face.

My thoughts drifted back in time. It was only natural to think about first contact. He'd initiated it, that was normally the way of things. The girls were merchandise on display, the guys potential customers browsing the shelves. Some women really put themselves out there. Naked breasts, pussies even. The truly brave, or irredeemably foolish, even showed their faces.

Not me. I had just the one photo. A shot of me in my little black dress. I'd taken it a few minutes before going out to meet my boyfriend at the time. I guess that relationship was already doomed if I was simultaneously taking selfies for a hook-up site. Head and shoulders only, a little cleavage, and my features prudently blurred. Blurred beyond the reach of image recognition software, I'd checked before posting it.

I still got attention. Then I guess most women did. For a start ...